Willflowers

I dance in the willflowers cause the willflowers know best and i sashay in the rain because there are no tests or trials there is only treason and treason is a constant which is the same as nothing so i am liberated in my lack of choice. i am free to ignore evil wills and destruction, hell on earth, the apocalypse thoughtfully thrust upon us by believers, the second coming to expedite their sanctity, to steal life in the name of securing optimal death. to what end, i say, mimicking maya rudolph of her parody of the political of the entertainer in entertainment, the political being the utmost parody of the political so that irony becomes truth and the truth becomes a collection of comical farce. and what can you change? when you took for granted the legibility of the stars and the moon and the feeling of willflowers beneath your feet? you thought that everyone would understand that their smiling faces are at stake. Rotten apples are scattered and you have to pick one, slimy with ripeness and past its expiration. most chose their beloved false prophet. guzzle down His juice, gluttonous mutts.

Lombard Street on New Year’s Day, the straightened out part past the tourists.