the gas mask filters out pixels they
color the air with false reality confetti it
blinds white and black deco holes into
drifting, eyes being held by
a helpful dreadlocked nymph who
lives inside the soldiers head but
is not a symptom of
pixel inhalation and
secret moments in solarized cobalt blue and
grainy figures in fish eye focus are
his armor and so are
the poppy field hat wearers who
throw seeds and wear seeds and are
blossoms yet to be but red petaled they are i
saw it worn on
fat arms sweating, sewn from scribbles and filigree and labyrinths they
turn and twist into clashing worlds that are also friends really, you
have to keep moving to be real and
in war between dichotomous forces you must
fashion armor that grows and dies and laughs and wilts and
kicks and twirls and flies and pouts and
is born one more time for
it cannot break under the pressure of
the turning writhing twitching absurdity that
hard unyielding impostor we mistake for
logic it is or is not so
order the last round it is or is not well
that red light glowing it is or is not see
that building you live in it is or is not and
that body you inhabit it is or is not i am telling….OUCH!
I stubbed my toe!
It hurts so bad!
Dammnit!
