by Peter Norman
after Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz
Oh scale-shawled
twineye
your undulations
call to me
as krill-rimed
finblotch
on barnacled
monstrosity.
Groupers implore
you
from jaw-girdled
skulldome
(haplessly hung
there
twixt crinkly fangtrusion)
that you decline
to rend them
with heaving gobbersmacks
of gangleous codcruncher.
Likely you won’t.
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