Viscosity, the viscount
of virtuosity, demands
squishy objects from its
subjects. To green one
self into slime, mold
one mind into nine.
Repeat, as with sham
poo. Fake movements
become conditioned
to believe in them
selves, all eighty
one of them, as
long as the ex pec
tation leaves space
and line for the man
of hours to moss in
to a person of mush
room decay.