Mainstream

I want to plunge my hands

into that main stream.

Sink towards the bottom

while it rushes past me.

All those people and their

slippery liquid dreams –

The technicolor deluge

tugs at my seams.

They may not

whittle their souls

with a razor’s promise,

but all that wild neon raw,

so sleazy ghastly loud:

It makes me want to sing

and tell them thank you.

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