Erik Fuhrer
Apocalyptical Doorways
I pass through the Apocalyptical doorway stuffed with Tweedle Dees and carpenters building sandcastles out of rotting meat and twitch my bewitched nose three times in bewilderment The apocalypse is bedazzled with walruses whisking their whiskers through its inner meat as I crawfish my body past their surveillance and stand before a giant hat beating steadily like a watch or an army about to strike The apocalypse is a ripple in time ripped through the felt of my terrycloth heart and I am in so deep that I can no longer see light other than the flame in a rub a dub tub of oysters simmering on low-heat
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