There is lightning. There is a man in a white suit
standing in front of a tarp. He is whipping
an obelisk of coquina with a cat o nine tails.
The church bell rings behind him. Six. Seven. Eight.
Thunder. The ocean-filled cloud of sonicboom.
A tractor trucks up and plows everything over.
There is now the façade of a one-story house
sitting in the dark. A naked woman runs blood
caked through the streets, wielding knife. A group
of trick or treaters approach her. One has
a pumpkin head. Confused, she stabs three of them,
eats their candy squatting in the street
screaming so loud that no one could hear the thunder,
but it’s doubtful that anybody listened.
People pressed buttons and destroyed sound
and everyone got silent and all emotional
and everyone’s life became some version of someone else’s
and mothers put fathers to bed and technically
there were no mothers and fathers only names and
no children were born and no one lived forever
and everyone rode their tractors
over everyone else and their tractors
and now there is an endless desert, a whole
rock of dead material calcified, and the man
in the white suit and the naked woman are crawling
in the shattered earth, pursued by mirages
of giant cgi-animated insectoid creatures destroying
every decadent oasis in front of their very eyes,
them eating cacti to survive, huddled beneath
a colorful blanket buried inside a pit of snakes.
Covered by serpents the woman’s face a stripe
of black the man’s mouth a beehive he is holding
a baboon wearing a crown and dismantling
a baby doll, looking at your soul without expression.
A tractor trucks up and plows everything over
and the tractor truck driver looks like you.