WHEN THE REALITY RUNS OUT

The world is broken.
Like it is forever Monday.

One piece of reality doesn't
quite fit into another

piece of reality
a piano and an armchair

sitting on top of
a ******* tip

both wondering how
they had got here

as if they were
a discussion on

a TV
chat show

Springs sprung forth
from its tattered seat

the piano trying to smile
despite its broken teeth.

In the distance
a scarecrow semaphoring

abandon meaning
all ye who enter here.

This moment in time
without any time.

Sans this
Sans that.

The world runs out.
The pavement crumbles back into dust.

Scarecrow a crucified
Christ in a sunset.

A crow landing
on its shoulder

become now
the Cú Chulainn of Irish legend.

"If you want the world
to continue

please add more money..."

bleep bleep bleep bleep