She chooses her words like she chooses her death:
Always in little pieces.


I used to be the black star anti-hero,
the rebel without applause;
the black-clad Son of Sam

night-stalking his dreams.
I was once a proud disciple of the "other" category.


But I've become a 401K-paid slave,
A 24 karat puppet
who dances on command

and throws going away parties for himself
at various cubicle concentration camps.


I'd get into gear,
but my aspirations are in the backseat
toking it up with my day dreams

and hot-boxing my perceptions.

But something must be happening to my gag reflex,


because I'm hanging from a fluorescent noose,
yet my tongue dangles

loosening my bonds,
trying to convince my fist to resurrect as my lord and savior
and crush the dopplegangers that live on my shoulders

because they've been trying to bull%#@! my consciousness
and trick my brain into remaining comatose.


But St. Lazarus arises from the death tube
glowing,
adorned in Hi-definition white robes

and a cathode ray halo encircling his head.

"You are the walking dead,"


he says,
then ushers me toward the garden,

a mass of needle-thin metal grass blades
and twisted crystal daisies.


It's beauty blinds me
so I begin to bow in prayer,
but I'm interrupted by my own corpse

hanging from the Tree of Wisdom?
a mass of twisted fiber optic cables
and broken monitors.


He appears as an angelic zombie
eating apples made of glass

and playing with his plastic ribs
hoping to resurrect himself.


But before I could help him down,
Eve's face flickers on a nearby screen
and she screams,

begging me to be released.

So without a thinking twice,

I set my other self aflame
while growing xenon wings
and setting flight,

dragging the All-Mother up with me to the sky.

and there we find Lucy,

a crystal !@^%-mistress
dancing on the glass ceiling.


She holds a jagged diamond
to my heart beat,
she tells me that $#&@ing her

will unlock my divinity;
and I'm wearing protection,
but she's already infected my reality.


And I'm wearing protection,
but she's already infected my reality.

And I'm falling,

waking up again
in the same bed I died in yesterday.