Surrounded. Surveillance camera footage at night, exposed in white from the infrared light. Assailants want to fight. Kick and punch and turn out his lights.
Parking lot alone. No one to call. No one to phone.
No help yielded with his shout. No rescue from protectors. No Jesus resurrected.
Circumference around the origin, him. The centre of this world of ten. Aggressive men.
Pinball-like, he strikes. From him to equidistant him. Torquing the bolts on an aluminum rim.
Ideas, thoughts, fear, take hold. Like the fish and loaf, a thousand-fold. His same cyclic thinking is rotten and stinking.
Sense becomes nonsense. Reality becomes insanity.
The assailants are the things you hate. Murder and Rape. Cellphones and Cancer. Paper and Plastic. Religion. Decisions.
You punch and swing. One cellphone down. Another one flashes. Darth Vader is coming. You’re stuck in molasses.
‘Yours to Discover‘ becomes ‘Open for Business’. Sweat from the fire of a hundred burned bridges. Burned money, burned martyrs. Munitions. Tuitions. School is in session. Lesson time, bitches.
A roundhouse kick to politics. A quick knee to the donkey’s dick. To the face of the elephant, another swift kick. Like Randal Grichuk, a swing and a miss.
You can’t deny you’re fatigued in the mind. You concede to the notion you’ve been left behind. You can’t beat them all. You fall.
On your knees. In the mud. Your own blood. They’ve won.