A Mall's Horror Vacui

an entourage of black & white monsters

rabidly collapse--on a mall's glassy floor.

itching away at pixelation, retaining the

right to crudity.

the mall's scent marketing spreads its

delicious mist around yellow hazard signs,

methodically placed around hinterland's 

embattled fringe.

the horror vacui of a mall, full stop.

the Art Brut of the disciple that got away,

having escaped from a c**k's forth crow, or

Judas' Romanesque royalties.

the unnoticed figure that whistles apart the

mall's glass ceiling, rubs his eyes to reveal

St. John of Patmos sucking out the soupy eyes

of lambs.

shaking free an extra large fountain soda from

Christ's right hand--dissolved by flavor.

denominational puddles rising from the mall's

glassy floor, as Christ hacks up demonic roars

as he's assailed by children.

whose parents wander off to grope a voluptuousness

that sheds their hands, all over the place.

a pendulously oversexed wash of half-baked

murder, as if a feather could be roused from an

indeterminate wing.

the adjourned high courts of dream.