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A Poem

Social media belches the world as I drink

a roast pot of dead rat coffee beans.

the world is a burnt toast offering the mildew of a

nowhere land for nowhere men and women

drowning in a salt free seedless watermelon tomb.

there is the urgency of a desperate dog chasing

its tail and the world spins around again. we are

twiddling our thumbs waiting on a second coming,

a third coming, or a sequel to the last Marvel movie

of the world.

the X-Men will save us, in the end. but we are all

mutants, eventually. we’re all freaks and we are

hiding our super powers beneath a veil of

morbid skin fascinations.

nothing to see here, as Cyclops burns a hole

in the wall of the world with his laser vision.

Scarlet Witches float over the city, looming like

bright butterflies in the apocalypse afterburn.

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