Sharpened wheels,
Shiny track falling off
The world’s edge
Into the maw of the


Crunch, crunch.

No tickets required,
Only shackles.
The dull reflection
Of flooded fields,
Pallid faces float
Near the surface.

The sun makes heroes of us all,
Golden beauties
For the abattoir;
Thirsty blades quiver,
Eager for prime cuts,
Jugged victims,
Spiced offerings,
Classical delicacies,
We are fast-food Messiahs,
Cheap & easy to consume.

Catalogued to the zeroes,
Blank statistics,
Moses’ rod fires bullets,
Parting pleas.
The ladder is made of snakes:
Angry, spiteful, spit-full.

Terminal terminus,
Cyclical schedule,
Retching souls
Make clouds weep.
Truth too terrible,
Ultimate magic trick


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