Of Plonk and Cruft

sometimes madness has to come out
a long turd extruded down the centerline
of a highway in the middle of nowhere
summoned by the rarefied air
the altitude of mountains
a blinding fog
at the edge of the world
you have pointed to its boundary
it would be time to turn away
but this is impossible

the heart of America
is toxic dead black oozing
down at the bottom
of the Gulf of Mexico
killing everything around it
dragging it back
to the center of the earth
tilt-a-whirls and an
elliptical Ferris Wheel
Because We Can

there is no story being told
a story only exists in the past
this is what is unfolding before you, now
not necessarily making any sense
just bleak and deterministic
a slow motion train wreck
and the more layers that separate you
from the appearance of what may have already occurred
the longer you are able to ignore what will become fate
until you too are its witness


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