Orange Crush

He has his spine

He has his orange crush

And dry shampoo

And dreams, like pirhana

Gnashing as his sunken loins


He has breakbeats on repeat

And a flair in his step

Like a necromantic Napoleon

Swinging towering stilts and

Raising a scepter at the head of a parade


But the rain is coming

And so is the lightning

And so are the toppling winds

And the fear, swimming inside of him

Chomping, waiting for the plunge