a moldy orange. is thrown into a sink
shredded. cloth is on the floor
there is. a misunderstanding
but intense. déjà vu
a baseball game, not even casually. watching
glancing here and there, wandering. in thought
even. when the ball is thrown
a. small child to the right
lost in a color-thought. autistic world
places a hand. to his lips
wiggles. his fingers
and vividly. grants a vision of the world
being torn asunder. by tiny were-bats
discon.necting the grotesque machinery of reality
an old-folks home, mental health facility, or. abandoned school
no one really. knows
the elderly faction laugh and play, dancing in. an empty ballroom
for they know, hear, and. see nothing
just down. the hall
there is an old room. full of mannequins
happily. avoided
the mannequin room. may be room 101, or it may be shell beach
depending. upon who enters
an old man, just. inside, guards the door
peering. through the window
ushering random travelers aside. with a smile
shielding. eyes from the horrible truth
been. here before, yet different
the simulation. continues
walking as. synthetic lifeforms
until things are finally set right.
