Incomplete.

We have to run away from the apocalyptic
Even if that means running towards an apocalypse
We have to drown it all
In rooms without any air
And drain all the swimming pools
Of their chlorinated corpses

We have to pass through closed doors
And wear coats made of gum drops and processed cheese

We have to draw maps of Ireland
In invisible ink
And send secret messages
Through billboards
On Highways
Between hell and San Jose

We have to take pictures
Of all the strange bodies
Strewn on all the strange subways
With expired throw-away cameras

We have to melt plastic
While wearing newspaper and trashy magazines

~ by carik on April 8, 2008.