ceremony

all you have to do is notice
the low level of creativity
the lack of color & shape

and there you go
slump & observe them
pump & spray it out
of their soul sucked continuum
like machine gun fire
a construct of photonic potential

like a spasmodic post-sexual
thruster of wild young hips
to the oldest dance in the room
just keep pumping & dumping on me baby
impregnation will commence

it's all getting a bit obvious
and the oblivious mindlessly help
the poseur satanic super suckers
build dandy whorehole prisons

non consensual souls in deserted malls
hold maps that lead these
pretend intrepids to nowhere
we watched from the highest tide mark

sat here wishing we were in a lighthouse
gawping the cull of
prone post-tesitcular rucksacks
packed with nothing more than essentials
blacked out in drunken revelry
never to return the same again

buttered up skinned chicken
filled with saliant cosmetics
sits prickling on an old Foreman grill
bought for TV dinners
rolled out on Molochs birthday

it fixes itself by worrying about
connection problems
fiddling as all it senses
burns important retinal decisions
into identikit photo-apped ripped
copies of a perpetual fruitless delusion

editied in real time
no color
no shape
reverse hypoxia may hit us
when we refuse to breath it in