Guinea Pig for Life

Reflection scrubbed
(hocus pocus)
by skies torn, raining tears.
It belches, streaks
then disappears
before shifting back to soft focus.

Aluminum, Barium and Strontium: sun’s got three halos.
Blacktop stench is strong today
mixed with the tang
of dumpster decay
and something else… who knows?

How’s confinement
treating you?
The safest way
to view the world!
And, what did you contribute today?
Dispensed a
guinea pig pellet
or two.

When it drains, it snores-
Starving dogs circling
warping the floors
…me oh my…
I’m getting feral.
Bar the windows.
Close your pores.

Guinea pig, guinea pig
how you will shine
when the last
star has fallen
from that fucked up sky.

Tut tut… it looks like
the apocalypse…
only more stupid—
sponsored by
Twatter and OK Cupid.

There They are-

behind satellite dishes-
Microwaves aimed straight at you.
You’re a Hot Pocket—
a rack of boneless ribs—
perniciously delicious
but not half as cute.

Hot Pocket, you know what?
In your sold out soul, you are…
you’ll plump when They cook you.
This is the score:
You get the trots, starve in a glut-
hot… not nutritious. Wholly impure.

O guinea pig
barred from the proceedings…
confined to spectator status.
With your compulsory salute
you hide all those feelings,
steady your phone… your wise apparatus..

and wait for the signal

to shoot,
shoot,
shoot.

rung3
RED ZONED BLACKED OUT, digital photo collage, 2003 copyright GPD
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