superfuck constellation

tho im not everything you think
but am more than you imagine
an entire constellation burning
with blue moons & pink suns
& little green androgynous clones
doused in chatreuse
watching meteors collide
pinball wizards
& metronomes
swinging both ways
to the last waltz
before implosion
whispering beautiful thoughts
to wayward daughters
of the apocalypse
now & then as the bastard son sets
i consider annihilation
of all those principles
the moral majority fuck
as i do the mathematics of belief
on a wet bartop
watching another fading star
dying right before my shaded eyes
at the penultimate open mic
tell me something technical
tell me something physical
tell me something beneficial
just before you become
exactly what you should be
in the anomalistic year of paucity
preceding the shifting of natures balance
toward anorexia nervosa