In Hetero

The proboscoed thing.
The needlenozzle, ballooning on
a skein of techno grass; and
the electric-blaring bibble-horn.
O, Caligula;

you, then, bested by a lepidottero,
are twittering on the brim of
all that Electro, Magneto, Resono,
will never describe with details.
The Gaius along the edge
of a pick-end (white matter
suffused with mucosa); see it agitate.

Welcome me, Gaius. No more of
those particles, prescriptions,
or steely wands.
Shiver me Lunar. I see the face
there, the blue chin
clockwise of the eyeless features.
Come, Rabid Cuculidae;
land on my own face.