What an indescribable mess I have made myself into,
toppling over my own heels
falling over my feet in a spinning whirling whoop.
Can you hear the comical horns as I begin my descent?
Bulging pupils as I see myself
hoping not to bust into flame at the sight of you.
Carnivore my third glaring eyes is
(and yours too, I could imagine)
but lacking is the verbal commencement
the proclamation that is called for when doing such business
on this field of what there is.