IGUANA AMBULANCE

 

Another iguana has slipped off its satellite so here comes the iguana ambulance. Nothing glistens like an emergency. We paramedics have seen it all, from a small thicket of vectors beyond the larynx galaxy. Imagine a bouquet of testicles. It is quite yolk and deciduous. It rattles like an incision in the emptiness of a bell. In our windshield the cosmic hula dancer ladles snow into her third eye. Cracks silence like a mercury thermometer under a faucet of gravy. When we scoop iguana guts off the rails of Saturn there is a sound like the shaving of nipples. This denotes danger. From inside a book of beets an alphabet of red oozes toward tail pipes. Headlights slurp a biography of phantoms. This kingdom is queasy for a fable of rockets, and it is curious to find an equation of peacocks so far from its native purgatory. On your left, witness a window swimming with syllables. On your right, a hummingbird fucking a filament. If that causes you violence I immediately revoke your eternity. Time is without vertebrae. Stars as wet muscles. Sometimes we are known to colonize cuticles but this doesn’t mean you can’t be a gentleman. Listen: have some decorum when poaching a talisman. Baby giraffes aren’t equipped for yoga. Do you feel the inexorable fugue of banshees and bowties? The heat inherent in a steamed vowel? Observe the gaze of mud under a kangaroo gondola. There is pleasure to be had in the gothic distillations of a Mobius pickle and ecstasy haunting the dimples of a drowned mermaid. Now the lake is due for surgery, and while we have served the hemoglobin well there is an everlasting dent in the syntax of the universe that can never be repaired. Beware the flex of gravity. A garrulous gurgling of fuzz in the mouth of a skeleton.