Here's a cross-section of my

Gulping cancerous leeches blended in pickle jars for my stunted
benefit, I reminisce over the intimations of saffron-coated sari
maidens belching gossip into ears equally tinted by the gutter’s
mescaline shade of amber, perfumed madness leaking incessantly,
bridging the recesses of thinning hair and the vacuumed byproducts
of dandruff doldrums, stooping low over the causeway of my bathroom’s
shattered pipes clutching wet, heated links to the netherworld and
shrieking out for the one that calls unbeknownst to herself, let’s take
the nighttime combination of carbon-monoxide cocktails and cannabis
portfolios for granted, given that graft grows greedily in the hearts of all
men, recycling fixed gear bicycle bolo tie slinging madmen jangle nonfunctioning
keys throughout portland and order piles of organs to feast cannibal orgies
and cater deliveries to their enemies despite maxims barring dependency
fiending for delicacies and jonesing for jazzy music sprees while randomly
switching into bouts of rhyme scheme in the middle of potentially deep
poetry, this line is the for the highest bidder who can lurk on twitter
and simultaneously flitter between states of incrementally fuzzy consciousness,
my conscious doesn’t fit so I construct fractal mirror-splits to remind them I exist
fish oil substitutes stand stiff-necked preaching to the procession of
processed-food filled cream pie bow-legged pupils with dilated eyelids
and reddening nostrils, whose septums react in multiplication until finally
reaching nonexistence, No one can apologize for apathetic resistance