What is this place I am become?
a city of dizzy recollections
still unaware of its geographical location
frothing at the mouth with 100 cigarette butts
still stale in the grimy breath of fermentation
last night we drank to the memory of those who sacrificed their lives in the name
of Pie
In The Sky
today we search our mini-base-box for tonight's martyrdom broadcast: save the elves, consume your past.
Where is this plastic pueblo called home?
can i search along the endless aisles of categories and find where i belong?
to whom does it concern the rate at which my trailer will decompose?
can i forward my thoughts to the Conceptually Deaf, Blind, and Dumb Caucaus of the Take-Your-Money-And-Run-Fund?
will your high-heeled secretary inform you i called, yesterday, when you were out to lunch with the friendly neighborhood pedophile Mr. A.None?
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