Helicopter fingertips spinning like carousels and wizard’s spells
Flying above the heads of the others, birds on the wing of existence
Fifty cents and fifty burnt tents, hiding in the forest’s foliage
And spoiling meat, a treat for seethe full beasts, entreating
On the upper realm of the cranium that divides the imagined from the conscience
The very small world clearly real and the steely peeled world that your eyes construct
And puncture your thoughts and actions with imaginary people
Imaginary places and spaces and other faces
Even your own
The eyes you see in the mirror in the morning are imagined windows with screens playing
Carefully played out scenes and episodes and and anecdotes coated
And smothered in the deceit of one’s own mind
The kind mind that creates a fine land
Much grander with sand and mountains, natural fountains
Bountiful gardens, counting bars and suns and crows and people as you walk along the digital highway, computer brain, ball in nothing and nothing it is
Fizzy soda and murders in Minnesota
Catastrophes in the east, beasts
Gusting across plains, and stains of
Death and burnt woods and the lights of the ones that destroy the planet
And grand pits that aren't even there

What a beautiful place that doesn’t exist.