chrome baby version one:
Where do you go when the silver spirit runs its rotten body under your silver skin?
Silver on silver my copper horse house fading fast as the soft sun sinks.
The silver spirit effuses profusely a white rowboat - but my silver spirit wants to drag its wilting body into your mouth parts and curl up solid.
My silver spirit perches upon the saddle of your buckskin blanket pinto palomino which of course lives in my copper horse house.
Copper silver the best time of day is when the sun is gone but the light has not. Then my copper house begins to glow and the horses begin to glow and the silver spirit that wormed its way into my silver spirit begins to glow and drags us up into the rotten silver glowing silver stars.

chrome baby version two (“clearer”):
There is an evil thing that follows me a chrome baby - no not a baby like a young thing, a baby like something birthed it once- a baby because of its relation to a higher beast.
A chrome baby is like a liquid become a solid drop a needle into a moonlit pond and freeze time: those are some of the ingredients for a chrome baby.
My chrome baby sees from above and below but never straight on like a deer or goose it looks with its head to the side, my chrome baby is my size my body size.
My body was solid and there were certain rules and regulations for operation that i loved to bits and pieces to follow with high morality. I knew where my arms were and I knew what size my fingers were in relation to my nose and eyes and I could drag my brittle nails from my kneecaps to my clavicles with precision, tilting my thin hips and ribs to meet them in any strange night.
I had a vague idea of stomach, lungs, spleen. mainly through pain and abnormality.
My chrome baby baby changed me baby. I can move my insides now and I slide my spleen over my stomach as I slide my fingertips up my shinbones. I can feel my chrome body baby I can feel the insides of my chrome skin. My chrome baby is increasing the space between my skin and my muscles. My chrome baby is adding a millimeter of stale air space between my skin and my muscles. My chrome baby is going to slide its silver skin between my skin and my muscles.
Chrome baby above and below.  my up shadow and my down shadow. The down shadow on the floor (some might just say “shadow”) but my up shadow - you can see my up shadow in the hour minute when the sun is gone but the light is here. My up shadow chrome baby lives in the sky and it connects its outline to my down shadow, and I am between.
I compact my warmth in my heart, I add layers and bake it the smooth kiln of my body for strength. My chrome baby will take me to the stinking stars and I will live with my hard clay heat heart blazing out of cold, scorched, heaven.

chrome baby version three:
The higher beast: aCHROMEica necronomica
A tinkling bell is a sign of love from a ghost, love before, during, and after he was a ghost. My chrome mother reels in the ghost with a silver rod - hook baited with a stale ghost cracker (saltine). My chrome mother spits into the ghost and it folds in on itself, drifting softly into the deep pit. A tinkling bell sounds from far away. This is a birth.
(afterlife)
A chrome baby is part ghost, part cracker, part tinkling bell, part needle, and part moonlight. Note: there is metal, but not an abundance.
(beforelife)
My mother was not a chrome mother. My mother made a potion and made me a chrome baby. I loved a man who had metal in his mouth. I loved a man who had metal in his mouth and he became a ghost and we slipped a silver coin between his metal teeth and his soft cheek, and because of this he became a chrome baby ingredient.
I wish I was an ingredient in a metal making. I wish to be lifted softly and surely by a mother of time and to be sent down a river of steam. My steam river mother destination is a forge and i am steamrolled and cookie cut and none of it hurts (immediacy ingrediency). But I am not a chrome baby and my mother was not a chrome mother. My mouth tastes only of bone.