The Metaphysics of America

An Egypt pageant's vernacular scattering ankhs and uncles' screams between the sheepishly poised claps of poppies on the Oz wind, flat notes, hasbeens, battered debutantes and we who love to be astonished hiding in opinions while humming the affinity of Miss Brown to you.

Angelic and a team of addicts pushing their fantasies against it, adamantly deaf to all the words left in our hearts, ready to bleed them and see them through the west's nexus of alphabets and let downs

Heroine, heroine, heroine, heroine... it lent him the rhythm of invisibility to be the drug he needs a personal, me, to get him high as the practical Apollo statue with bald knees, Showtime, tap down from the second balcony wearing a cane and white gloves and land in the splits. Make it look so good it's intrusive. Make it make your move for you. Be screaming. Be quiet