i'd count it twice but its most likely the currency would be the same
and these shape shifters we both see are deluding the masses;
making it harder for us to breathe,
harder for us to make believe
that this is fictional and the pen is in our hand
not the clouded consciesness of a (hire)hitler;
ink scrub your nails clean
before the surgery of seduction wraps you in its green garments,
your head over heels for the karma-
spiralling like pasta from swelling under this lighter-fluid pressure
igniting the throne you built from scraps of text you cling to
like barnacle beds, and catching like wildfire
the applause is moronic
we'll drift word down to ocean floor,
just to escape the encore
just to escape the red yellow pink and blue
too much of one or the other and its all brown in the end
your pens are full futile syringes not salvation,
your a junkie for words which fade in the sun,
fish scales glitter but stick to your tongue
..so run?