Stimbug at the Middle School Dance

by Jared Ijams

Its livery’s scuba glistered,
    sloughed in stigmatic prance & wallowing skintight.

A self-spat bleat bumps flushing,

           waxy while
   sweathaze rinses its canker sores.

        The bog’s revived as bodied stagnate—
   Stimbug yawns griefed at the dreadborn baptism of a fauxfilled flightline 
& worships the humid crowns of alcoholic fen-dwellers: it drinks
a glass of hot water on an empty stomach.

Caught yawping 
in a son’s bucking snare rush,

a butcher’s lumbering war,

  Stimbug  trembles a hopeful succession 
& distances 
         a wise inch
         a jetway

         a killing.

Teenage dream of totality delta’d between
  a shorn circuit 
rent futured:  Stimbug is

         a headstand 

by the soda machine at the 7-Eleven.

Crushed lustripped before
  objected blotgirl,

motormale flings clicking
         a hundred jowls,

         growling strobefrags,
         slathering mothshells,

         slouchfumed braingroping & breachloaded.

A release which clings,
                       calcifies.