This hornets nest of words, gist of the Hymenopteron, is inflated with lead, is clement as the lard that greases the tip...

(...)

In the tremulous conclave
algaebodies disiplined
stuffed in holes
clouds of flesh
touch the uvula through those
mildew-stained nostrils...

And with the erotic scent of burning flesh lingering
he rips the mercurial membrane off the foreign analgesic star
to evade her luminous brightness...

Where then starts the major movement of clandestine exploitation?
Return to the base of your holy mountain, little man.
The low is the hight: now we can face the excremental disaster of our time...
Henceforth all desires are exploitable...

(...)