an intersection with an audience

the mix of all things transient
in the glow of a blinking red light
an intersection

paradigm police patrol the possibilities of what is real
while onlookers eat chicken soup and hold score cards

7.2
6
10!

now the world is spinning like a centrifuge
and our contestant peels from the wall
jumping spaces before the music stops

a slow drag crackles, burns
the urge
and then the purge

and now, the declining posture
evidence of incest
-mind fucking the body
-body fucking the mind

the blinking red becomes blinking yellow

proceed....

Pluto is not a planet

the universe wipes away tears as mortality slithers around the minds of those awake, aware

there are still supple beings - impressionable, but easily bruised like ripe fruit

the problem is:
freckles, curly hair, and ta-tas
she, in the red dress with pairs of testicles in grasp will tow naive victims through
bush, thick, and thorn.

even consciousness is spoiled by pheromones and fantasy
inebriated
intoxicated

shrivel- shrink- shy away
from the shameful shit
that leaves you sleepless,
shivering/sweating/swearing
that you can stop
and submerge yourself
safe from the crossfire.

a largescale game of steel jenga

sweeping up laughter
   like it's disaster
the awkward agent moment killer
   unsparing and judging every tither
carrying skyscrapers across streetcars
   (to topple church steeples)
   politicos acting like crusaders
there will be shocks and tremors
   and the only thing left is death & what one discovers