How easily fascinated by coming attractions like scripted answers to improvised questions we never practiced asking. I’m willing to trade amnesias, or at least close these lobotomies with chromatic scales of male hypocrisy. So the higher up the rank, the wizard behind the curtain dissolves the note’s honesty—a white-out coated past. Humor must be the seventh sense. Memo is short for long-term memory, laughing while gasping for air. Distract us from comparing our own clues by ignoring historical facts, known by who’s shoes truly walked about before the glory memorial stood to gain profits from gift shops? Tourist emporiums and classrooms using euphemistic euphoria—so who’s really writing this? Only the winners in movies kiss at the end, classics that never explain why villains resort to measures so drastic. Impacted wisdoms’ too commonplace, if only to extract the sour taste of silver-spoon fed headlines. Let’s design a barded-wire fence around the shrine—security measures: Protect the divine who, anyway, just chalks it up to an outline. I scribble a moustache on the hologram, kinetic stand-stills, photographs past-tense that access memories vanished. Set standards with no map: The eyelid is just a Venus flytrap, a centipede leg is just an eyelash. Now, let’s see: A continent is just a bigger island—that sandless shore is no match for global warming’s global warning of melting polar ice caps...

My teeth form the unemployment line around the corner—this whole system’s out of court order like a vending machine pay phone drug deal when I forgot my two quarters. When they reach the close-door policy sign it reads: “Cognitive need not apply…” They fight to the death until one’s left standing, but witnesses notice only what they would’ve missed if they weren’t looking and nothing happened. Paralysis is no new home… And still [c]hristians want me to believe in more signs than perforated poles know to post. So I keep my eyes peeled for a praying mantis hula-hooping halos the size of a growing hole in the ozone. The illegitimate child of twilight’s back seat—no light left to spare like a zebra whose stripes are only visible when the pony’s not there. Refrain means stop and repeat phrase… Refrain means stop and repeat phrase… Refrain means stop and repeat phrase… And defined on the crest balance the clash between light and tidal waves. Maybe I’m amazed—sound the hornets. My sentence is a run-on fragment, read these random pamphlets only to get lost in the mechanics—grammar fastened to the wings of every landing. Punctuation functions to mark conclusion to another day of waiting. At the factory gasping, operate elephant forklift. This drowning workforce using lit cigarettes for snorkels—but some of us called in and stayed home sick while the rest of us are at work homesick… If a sharpener’s what it takes to make a good point then Ritalin’s paradoxical effects could carve my dull mind into an arrow. As far as emotions go, there’s nothing left to evoke cuz I’ve stripped them all down to the lug nuts and lightning bolts. Rehearsing lopsided squints, the windows tint as time has the sun convinced it’s time to set the clocks ahead to double shift. When I finally get off on this makeshift orgasm, proof is walking home to a dead end on Progressive Avenue… When my eye drops, my ear rings—ripped out. I clip obituaries like coupons for deals on daylight savings. Graveyard pharmaceuticals: Headstones are chewable tablets, like the kind commandments were chiseled into—[g]od digs, it’s mutual. The world’s a bottle of pills: Once night’s cap is unscrewed the fluffy clouds must be removed. Here, wind doesn’t exist so we reflect this city’s magnitude, believing in horizontal latitude—we’re dead statues…

Blow the candle out if you can…

Here, skin doesn’t resist so we respect this city’s aptitude, conceiving of air designed to breathe by opening labor’s manual…