From the Fishouse

I cleanse my palette,
uvula and glottis delightfully refreshed,
tongue rippling muscular and wet, segmented.

Cornucopia of razor blades,
each cactus swallow scream,
lip split to chin, secret teeth revealed!

I chew my palette,
grind it into paste and swish.
This drink of deception,
this sensory milkshake.

At table I spit into paper cup.
While napping, I rewind the day.

Such tainted visions!
What fiendish cud!