Broken down, cobbled together, and now strewn out
from the great churn of so many cosmic coinflips:
where do we go when the sidewalk ends?

Here we are and warned:

A mass-forget of massive consequence,
the cracked mud shuddering off tendrils
of Miracle-grown mercy;

A Myers-Briggs psychosocial inventory,
couched in terms of "characteristic"
and only "probably";

The universal narrative of self,
newly remodeled in dialogue
with the popular hits of the 1980s;

Upstart tulips tiptoeing to a primitive
but probably weaponized plea
for the wrinkled guidance of bloodless sand;

The Cambridge Marxist Education Center
boarded up in a self-interested
poverty of self-interest;

Spiderwebs of light-bearing cable lurking
beneath sidewalks, gobbling and vomiting
in equal measure the measured;


When sidewalk crumbles into lawn,
and earth can wake and stretch and yawn:
we will ALL go to Epcot.
i don't know where my harness is..