Was it my teeth or my tongue that said, "Glue shut your lips, let us take a rest"? My mouth is a factory for every toxic part of speech I spew. Late, languorous and afraid to ask, caught my reflection in some sea-washed glass. My face is unable to convey how very awfully I'm doing. Laugh out of habit at the lump schematics. I smoked my senses. It made me so demented. I see me and you with the kennel cough, signaling the sleuths of the trail we trot. Expansion rattles out this old lump. Bats get bristled. The imps heat up. Spoon out the sweet stuff for streetwise smut. My gut absorbs the fiercest blows you never thought you'd have to throw. Laugh out of habit at the lump schematics. My psychic tenses make so defensive. I see me and you in the tiger tank, swimming as they yowl. Soon they're tearing us limb from every limb to the kennel cough. Don't even care if they take my legs. I've limped before, I could limp again, though my limp is not able to display how very awfully I'm doing.