the gentlest flutter of a butterfly’s wing signals the beginning of the end just like they’d predicted: a tornado off the coast of china, and the san andreas fault is cracking right open
somewhere, the latch on the vault of time opens then there is a soft tinkling sound it’s getting louder and louder compelling us to move so we take to the streets hooting and hollering to the toll of messianic bells
each resounding gong-echo counting keeping score one two three seven thousand and a billion until your inequities and my inequities and his and hers all one giant black ink-stain on the gummy-grey shirt-sleeves of humanity
i am Right i say he says she says
our sanctimonious mouths starving tilted skywards wondering praying crying words stream forth from charlie brown soundless-motion-picture lips like manna falling from the skies
we lift pious palms outstretched webby-gnarled fingers high above empty heads proudly grubbing shoving snatching pushing paying homage to the slightest sliver of holy eucharist, dizzy plastic and twisted steel
through an aubergine haze of nicotine cyanide iodide marijuana smoke burning books bras flags graven hands grope blindly, not-quite-half-seeing as its strewn playthings lie and whirl in a broken dollhouse
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