the fourth gate is a drop held in a spoon
practically floored, one of the many zeros
kicked off bored (dawns without a rainbow
take a ride closer to the emperor’s statue)

with every little girl pinching the soft bridge
of her nose the yellow crust on her knee
extends up to a larvae dance in the rotula

but there's no way out there's a way out

there comes the bronze vow of the blood
that my smooth throat knew very little of

(poor estimation of my tongue's infection
glued carefully on the back of a shiny bullet)

Be silent, you fool, the shape of this knot
is nothing else than your belly's future
sniffed in snatches at each family breakfast

the fifth gate is an elephant's nostril
where I sit for a while to make peace
with my plastic eye-casket
unfortunately, they have it on amazon
for freakin' $120 which is CRAZY!
they need to release more for $19.99

with every worm hiccuping
of admiration under the bathtub
I'm reading Werther
born on the edge of an adjective

he doesn't know I'm crunching a biscuit
&Zsa has found his bugs dead, right mate?