What might I find in surrealistic moments of poetical transfusions?
When words like ellipses folded into geometric circles?
When fingers too slowly typing the letters in times of open bombs?
When technology transforms ancient relics into tombs?

I siphon bacon cheeseburgers while watching the years etch backwards, gladly losing days as the heart pounds out elbow grease for little more than minimum wage.

It’s always only a matter of days…

If we refuse the postmodern will there still be room for capital deconstructionism?

Will all the squares hold the sum of their angles in post-historic anti-discursive spaces?
Will the universe still fit into the smallest unit of time?
Will we still have the propensity for language?
Will the oxygen shrink into tablets to be chewed twice daily, once at school and one for the asylum?

If we all have MDs can we diagnose ourselves and close all of the hospitals?

Then they served strong wine in goblets!
Then the cars ran only on dust!
Then the leaders closed their eyes and asked for assistance!

And then they barbecued the squirrels they found on the street; It was only New York and it was only in autumn as far as anyone could tell.

Who needs shadows when we have the scriptures?
Who needs an enemy when we have the law?
Who needs a poem when we have televised wars?