A banana-spiral alien with no eyes -
No real face still manages to part
The crowd of onlookers -
A contortionist practices
On the boardwalk.
A cyclops octopus whose tentacles
Curl into a parted, cued mustache suckers
Sucks the bottom and makes a wet-kissing sound
While flopping like a fish out of water
On the scorching asphalt – red-ribbons
Like a licorice or a limp electric eel,
Hung in place without anything to be hung on -
Gray, mechanical hinged monsters – like grasshoppers
Chase the flag over the huge spurt -
With a crowd –a butt in every seat
Screaming at the top of their lungs.
A blue squiggly cloud reminds them
Against an empty sky -
The best place to look
Really,
Really,
Is a still at your phone.
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