She sweats in the kitchen, all shiny like a wrestler.

under the electric wires where / the paper burned down my lungs

they said ‘formal mathematical systems can make this all natural’ but angel-pus didn’t know geometry.

in his dreams / the word "Jarnge" reoccurs / time and time again

He ate it slowly, carefully placed the bones in a small ramekin, and then slept for nearly a week.

I’m shocked, I know, never thought he’d get it together

Eat me a Little Debbie. Those Swiss cakes. Manjuice I call ‘em. Never much seen a woman eat a Little Debbie in my life. Does it got to do with the name?

You know, equations involving plastic bags / And the babies that aren’t supposed to be inside of them

"I'm not a bad boy, I'm a bad coach. There's a difference." I made sure to whisper the final part back to her.

As soon as he is outside, he looks up at the building and understands. The turbines are still standing, but everything else is gone. Everything else is rubble and fire. One of the walls of the reactor hall has been ripped off. Steam and smoke are pluming upwards.

I find a hot dog separated from the pack

Before we knew what was what, it was just us and some ushers and a drunk and horny bridesmaid or two until the dawn started to break...

You forget me like a leftover sock, // the kind that ruins your day when you find it. / There are girls: many of them.

she is (lips) (and) a hello.