[mandala]
the star-body heat-lamp high over head
another fat, black fly feels oncoming death
old men pushing archiac machines down cratered streets
noise echos but is held by gravity
children in new clothes & wrapped safely in plastic
souls being fed like pollution & old habits
breathe in the air
of the last hundred years
liquid smoke leaves me blue, it shares my hue;
leaves my lungs and dissappears
the fat, black fly has found some back-up
a partner-in-crime; or maybe true love?
while the nuclear inferno rages on high above