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Revolt in Quarantine.

Singled out, poked
with a sharpened, eager finger,

(so thin skinned)

a bubble pops. A bud
finally blossoms. A star implodes,
in a beautifully violent supernova.

Jack in the box
fully realizing that in the climax
it’s all blown
wide open, no walls left
to provide

any semblance of a womb.

Somewhere a pimple
is popped, pus
spraying everywhere.

An asteroid slams
down, leaving an awesome
crater in it’s wake. Paid
back all the pressure invested

in keeping this out, holding
this down,

the Truth.

And so it comes
as no surprise:
before you,
the dead rise
and have their way.

Your body, mind:

their feast,
their arcade.


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