lost in the empty streets of a dead city
(the eyes of a dead city)
drinking in the orgone energy
the details for descent into
the shimmering orb
are broadcast
on the etheric pheromones
for the autistic we gather
around the shadowed
THE PRIEST
distributes plastic gloves
warm lime-scented lotion
to be liberally applied to the temples
“cranial lycopene” he whispers
I know this
dreamscape
to be illusory
an injection down into
mind shakes and bleeds