Like quality assurance I’m elongated
for sheer edginess, along the guard shack
typo elegance and streamlined coiffure:
you do not earn the stitches
your degrees compound to serrated
coolness, perforate here and be one
of us, one of us! The shanks of gold
and timorously lop the fucker off.
You’ll cramp up otherwise, note the General
in later elections how the stumps
arise profound, bejeweled wrestler
with logos pierced through your skirt:
confused support for other candidates
makes spaghettis veins for us all.