I somnambulate carefully. Gut joins brain. Eyelids draw up, with grinding gears cut off all dream traffic open now to steaming rage. Heels strike floor, though shoulders ache still for the sweet soft peace of the pillow. Helplessness the base, a weak hand in overwhelming circumstance, bad faith in those with control over our lives, officials unwilling to move.
Users are rage teasers, money-changers in the temple.
To contemplate the EXIT sign and not enjoy the show, a wasted ticket. For now, please, a Jumbo Bucket, a Giant Coke. Chance afterward a world of real surprises. Meditation God tries to think of Nothing, but images float through Her Mind, and once conceived make blood and bone.