Social media belches the world as I drink
a roast pot of dead rat coffee beans.
the world is a burnt toast offering the mildew of a
nowhere land for nowhere men and women
drowning in a salt free seedless watermelon tomb.
there is the urgency of a desperate dog chasing
its tail and the world spins around again. we are
twiddling our thumbs waiting on a second coming,
a third coming, or a sequel to the last Marvel movie
of the world.
the X-Men will save us, in the end. but we are all
mutants, eventually. we’re all freaks and we are
hiding our super powers beneath a veil of
morbid skin fascinations.
nothing to see here, as Cyclops burns a hole
in the wall of the world with his laser vision.
Scarlet Witches float over the city, looming like
bright butterflies in the apocalypse afterburn.
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