Why I hate Beerocks

Over reactive to outside stimuli.
Putrid larvae pouch.

I can't be expected to comply
acquiesce bend over and take it.

I saw something move.
In Poltergeist fashion, I touch
facial skin, hoping to keep it
attached to bone cartilage
orifice mucous membranes.

Olfactory overload
with bile panic smell of phobia.
Nibble the shell
outer phospholipid bi-layer.
Identify mitochondrial DNA.
Intestinal mitosis can occur
suddenly fist-twist and churn.

It is dangerous. It must be killed.
Sentient supine hooks open...

Plague

I've strived to be a silkworm,
but no matter how I maneuvered,
all that came out was stained rags,
queasy hues, too impractical
for even the haute couture runway.
Another gutter ball. Another gutter ball.

Another slime ball of epic proportions.
Insectile abortions. I've tried to quell this
pink pulsating "beehive",
but there's no stopping its gelatinous mass
production placental overdrive.
These placentas with relentless stingers.

These placentas with writhing undersides.
These placentas that were catalyzed
by high fashion eugenics. In elite back rooms,
with exotic fruit mold supreme anesthesia pump action,
they liposuctioned the secret folds of my "fat suit"
until I was exposed. My veins

housed spumes of glitter prone to misfire.
My bones were not quite good enough to boil
into consommé. Despite their ministrations,
I would never be gourmet. They inserted the speculum,
extracted the larvae. Another gutter ball.
Another awful non-human "child".