Zulu Z. Zulu,
Times Staff

Mushroom roads break down geometry
Gears, hairs, and cilium turn the clock
Gravity’s existence skirts the walk
sucking inwards, deeper and higher
a breakdown of form

Veins pulsate with creative delight
Sour patch kids dance on icy stoves
The locals reel with hellish fright
A window into the mind, what will we find?
Scorpion entrails contain their victims
Will the survivors envy the dead?

But of course,
the king