Oops

Now I’ve done it—

opened the door into my mind.

Are you frightened yet?

The monsters don’t hide in closets

or under the bed.

They sing and dance,

put on a show,

burlesque

with its now-you-see-it

Now.

You.

Don’t.

Oh, there’s a mean streak

wide as the Mississippi

but it lacks that stagnant depth

of abject cruelty that makes a mean streak shine like pyrite painted gold.

Mine is dull and muddy

just like that muddy river

always on the way to Mardi Gras.

But wait! There’s more:

a fecund field of fabulous failures,

a makeshift latrine overflowing with others’ shit,

an abyss of unmet needs

where you can fall off a dark, sarcastic cliff that was

NEVER supposed to be funny.

You can laugh all the way down

because there is no bottom.

Tired of falling? Flap those

fucking wings and lift yourself

up.

Pay attention, goddamnit, to those cave paintings you ignored

when you were lost in my freefall.

They might not tell you anything.

But that’s okay, see?

They’re PRETTY.

Maybe prettier than you.

Maybe they have their own

little dogs and gingham dresses

to wear on saffron-bricked roads

to the man behind the window treatment.

You’re supposed to

IGNORE him.

I AM the GREAT and POWERFUL OZ!

Allgood’s “Train Song”—someday you’ll have to face yourself alone

Thank you for witnessing my insanity.