new me's, new you's,

multipules of each and every;

minds equipped to harbor

analytical paradise.

over the river and through the woods

to those "helpful" places

for when the vodka

turns to smoke and fears

and a slam dance

is worth dying for.

useless half-alive houses

where abyss is a pin prick

with fallout/knockout/dropouts

compressed between

three year-old holiday sheets.

all but borders

for the back-alley black market

of body shops, head shops;

your one-way suicide hotline.,

ringed around the rosy by

a multitude of human waste,

swaying, chanting,

late for the hangman's dance,

individually liberated

by bright stars and bad acid.