Lisopain

Without commercials, gimmicks, or words:

On this stretch through the

Post-Friday

Traffic

like an escape pod from some foreign

mother-ship that I once knew

after some previous unnamed carnival

after some previous unnamed reason

we cut, and dodge through with the melody

and run the high-hat in the fifth gear

where a little screen tells us

that the power is draining from the battery to the engine,

from the engine to the battery

and back again

from my terse excitement

to the unexpected red-light chorus  

across the bassline it creeps

like your beating heart and my skittering eyes,

and the fear that this could go horribly wrong

and the excitement that it might not,

filled with the absurd hope I will get to see all that cartoon shit that I envy so much

will I see a fish-eyed man with varicose veins that run out from his head whenever;

he looks to his left

..or his right

Wondering, to what entity does this hall way of steel and iron and concrete  

 the taste of the past and the future coalescing into one ever-present now

and i asked the trees: “what god?”

and they said nothing because

their leaves

had all been

decapitated.

But their roots ran deeper than the navigation-system

As they continued to Fold the concrete into toddler-origami

As the scale of the word washed the downtown skyline

As a sandcastle
consumed in the word:

  

Lisopain