--- K Y L E   C O N N E R

Run from the hair-raiser, heart of free will, fantasy spurned in a can, werewolves
                         stalk your spine, the sheriff waits in the car, sharing coffee with rats, 
                                      manure on the sleeves, certain people emit solvent rays watchout!, 
                                                     citizens' heads like mathbooks--
     Ready for the new space race, perverse and genteel, genetically honed meatballs, 
                         poke at your lipstick, fire a tracer gun, those with fishbowl
                                      helmets are channelling the wrong frequency entirely.

            Any fine soul can fall in space, if you think the Thing in the cargo
                                      hold's creepy, set down that eraser gum slowly,
                                                                  you're in for a numbingly aweful double-feature.