hooked up to a nectar-dispensing device that swells you briefly, then leaves you craving more sugar, more stares, more bald-faced attempts…
my dried husks of mobile intention blow away, turn to dust bunnies fucking in the desert
tumbleweed sounds permeate your tunnels and sewers
cannons rock foundations of impermanent creations and you put up all the posters, girl. propaganda for a youth movement riot over weed-covered public spaces. space-themed cookery, estate sale, realtor’s children, lemonade escape
electro-groupies get felt down deep, never deign to sleep, escape routes planned before the motorcade even parks
transmit across false goal-posts my admissions and intermissions of a plot too redundant
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