(dim the lights, cue dissonant minor chords, stoned disco pulsating)
A few moments ago
in a city much too close to home
the White House
(a decrepit abandoned
hotel-asylum
presumably haunted with
ghosts of madmen past)
drips bloodied
cuckoos’ nests
while Nurse Spicer
scrubs the walls.
“People always mean well…”
Deluded predatory
enforcers investigate
themselves and Batesian
shower scenes
or kidnappings.
Bedlam, interrupted
speaks in forked
tongues
Thorazine-shuffles
tuned to truncated shrieks.
“REDRUM”
Inmates play stupored
chess with missing
armadas
self-medicate on
high-tweeting
grandiose rants
marketing new
party game
“Nefarious or Stupid?”
“It’s the truth even if it didn’t happen”
Feathered parasites
stab fleeing
exsanguinated corridors
whitewashed
preferring life
as monsters
(straight-jacketed)
to death as good men.
“Alternative facts, they are”
sages Yoda
“You can’t handle the truth”
Festival for HORROR 