Breakdown

My neurons choke like dying stars above

a city on fire on the Fourth of July.

A locus swarm aura can’t cut the noose

of insecurity in a decade of drought.

Eating myself alive and every time I’m

reborn again with the grass in spring.

My mind wanders like old porn reels

for the houseless or horny at 4 AM.

A tall tale presence in a dark oak casket

kicking and crying under dinosaur shit.

Breakdown under the space-time grindstone

we season the cosmic’s final cold meal.

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