Panic Attack on Platform
The guard whispers into his collar mike.
(Fuck this city wide conspiracy. Really?)
Youth dem point from bridge. The puppet
man is shittin' it - gettin' fast outta dodge.
Sloppy chicken skin fattens my tongue,
silences the blurt. I never f'kin blurt.
Add more grease to dark stained shirt,
clean palm-heels in upward spurt of energy.
This is not behaviour, is not normal,
microspastic words splurge in skull,
wriggles and jiggles and trickles, inbred
ear bounce keeps the nonsense locked in.
Rushower drenches me in sweat. Staccatto
actors hit marks, do lines, improv, needle.
I click and tick, a nervous geiger counter,
chew the gnaws off a bloody gum and lip.
Bag it up, cling filmed, colour coded.
Number parts. Dead weight comic books.
My entire heftable life sinks like a flag
on a corkboard, even while the world crumbles.
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