& the oh-so-beautiful

this is the stuff of nightmares: imagine if he,
a body so unreal it is countless small holograms –
some red, some green, some blue – was sent to
jail for a crime he hadn’t actually committed (in the
textbook sense, which is, of course, the only
sense that matters here) & his life was limited
to daily affirmations & soliloquies of revelation,
the brunt of many taunts, the rich boy with the
impossible hairdo & a back-catalogue of impregnation.
no, it is far better that these things be resolved in
a playpen of courtroom humdrum led by solicitors
who are swoony peahens ready for blood:
defending the good state of california & those who
dream of justice & redemption

[this is]

tearing & shredding. the jesus-like man starts to destroy all his plaster-of-paris doppelgangers. and he’s raging atop small mountains of sweet potatoes. there’s a whole collection of things to be cleansed and purged, a whole wooden room full of plaster to be smashed. and then, hours of sleep to recoup, curled in a wet noodle on a pile of dust and shards.

*

what is happening. (that’s not a question, by the way. what is happening, as in, [this is] what is happening.) there is tearing & shredding, in that order.