It's 2am here and I'm fucking tabled
down in a supermarket bathroom inside of
pomegranate seeds when they explode in
my mouth and on the wall and I'm watching
this girl dance on the faucet here in this
bathroom, trance-dancing trance inducing
gaze, throwing down while karma
inserts inserts itself into coma,
Jamaica and Roma,
walking through the suburbs,
they're not exactly lovers, duplicate and then
you wait for the next Kuwait, pomegranate seeds
exploding Sufi swirling scifi throats to the ground
of divine truth, the supermarket categorization
dis-proven by the law that everything
is god.