decay of carnival

Grown wrong
Away from your laconic kingdom
the oxidated crown
outside, in a garden full of wrinkle-sad balloons and masks and a half-chopped lamb
colors went somewhere too soon
like cigar smoke vanishing from warm lips, it tasted like my organic shield, like a 9v battery
its all too good,
naked oozes of blue ozone and neon light from the drugstore spreading across impatient waters of collective waste.
I wish I would
afeter all you know this poetic-wannabe ectoplasma has been manipulated into a cynical protituted master-piece.