by Prof. Froz Scrote'um
Since the loss, many people had been and gone. One was here and then not, another in the sky as company for the departed and a smile for energy.
'It's poetry' he thought as a slick and wafer-thin razor-wire cut out an angled wedge from one of his calf muscles. The puking had since receded and the leaking from his right eye had crusted over with a black beetle.