Gorillas in the mistaken
identity politics of dancing.
Are you listening?
It’s me lucky charms
are unlucky three-footed
bunnies in the Maniac
Mansion full of Betamax
testaments, which may be
incriminating should
the world fail to fall
on me. It’s up the air
like a chemtrail mix
of OK cola & pop
rock that blesses the rains
down in it. I was feeling
some feelings
& that’s unusual because
I am the ghost in you
& your dance
floor fought for. A silly
trick, it cuts the roof
of your
mouth, tears
the roof off of the killing
moon & its ringfinger,
too. Three
decades of reckoning
& all we’ve got
to show for it is this
unicorn stranded
in a parking
lot, hooves hot atop coals
brought from the hardware
store to charge
Yan-gant-y-tan’s dread
lamp. Come away with me
before it gets to be
2007 & the moon & the stars
& the sun all become
mumble rap.
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