Coco Tabletop and Grill

walk the urban sprawl, where skyscrapers pierce the sky cities bleeding_assoc. carnival lights bloodshot dreams that flee, like squirrels unconfined biting frost of winter, within the tumultuous mind — stares into the landscape, tattered, mined; flickering neon signs above, a disparate throng battered ease crawls by, downward perhaps weekly-rationed kisses – hot, an insatiable quest cheap sleaze-pup charm, erratic gospel, agape. the mercurial dance of contradictions, where heroism and horror intertwine like whiskey-soaked vines. gamut of grief, a requiem, dreaming of somnambulant freedom. writing desk of torn love letters, scattered petals, and cauterized wisdom. ravaged streets whisper secrets to the wind, hand in skeleton, yet who ever listened — to the abattoir hymn of teeth? swig a glass flask of mezcal, worm floating in a vortex inside, watch with one enlarged eyeball socket, soon it will be its time to shine. very soon said me to i inside my mind’s eye, but who was i if not me? who else could i be? questioning leaves me mad by daybreak, defenestrate my sanity with propane, lines mainlined so i have that fire, just takes a spark and woof—! another roast led toast with a swirling grub, plasma made sand bottle of decadence. captain marvel/superwoman/and a stripper all in one frame, a sexy vigilante, more villain then hero, but i get the job done on the frontlines. what ancient incantations wilt to unveil, what forbidden knowledge we shall unearth, in this dark rite? with a heavy head let us proceed, fiendish friend, into the twisted arches arch, fragments of our fractured humanity await our night's cruel light. as we careen through to the next bar, sixty seven with twin pipes rolling smoke, we talk to our neighbors about the environment, air pollution specifically, humans just do that, stupidi-good people. see that guy, disparagement, croc-vibed, and smelling like chicken, yet the monkey says he's cool, but the koi school sees through his frozen, weary eyes pondering mayhem, that is the government you chosen. “get a grip man, chaos, this is madness,” said the parrot when he saw land. pandemonium my feathered friend under my breath, “you mimicry bastard.” club is booming with music that gets you hot, horny and paying for overpriced drinks, have to if you want a piece of fur to follow you home. here on the brink is where life writes its poem, a riddling rhyme of excess in the adobe, debauchery hedonism sold for green gold, soda pop to snort like pixie dust, flying around the room like peter pan — same room has a guy who will take you to wonderland, both together they call dolphin flipping. the vortex of the american dreamscape, the center of where the magika happens, the life — of the 99% — the better half.