Tall and stately Clara walks into the Darkroom.
Clara dominates the stage, Clara's eyes are samurai daggers.
Samurai have no daggers, pointed out by Travis glaring fiercely.
Travis moves to a corner of the room; he's nervous.
There are drinks falling off the edges of the tables.
There are drunks fucking off the edges of the tables.
Someone requests Hole again and again until the player breaks.
She reaches for a silver cigarette.
It's finely made mesh-of-an-afternoon good gaijin smoke.
Travis glares; he's high on thought and screaming.
Travis is screaming inside.
Here are the words of Travis' scream: Wah wa wa wa.
He turns slowly towards the door, careful avoidance of Clara-stiletto.
She moves.
She doesn't know what she's doing, fucked up on methamphet.
The light swings cause of an earthquake.
It's the biggest earthquake ever in Japan.
Sparks fly from the CD, Hole crashes to the floor.
Now or never.
Clara whips out dagger-stiletto, cuts his veins.
Before it's over in a blue moment.
Travis falls towards table-rim kanji-cut, you can read iroiro iraira.
Rim-job Travis topples as aftershock levels Fukuoka Tower.
Tower, baby, tower.
Everywhere in town sparks and wires down.
Crash-land Canal City flames cause of the earthquake.
Travis dead, Clara screams shampoo, here is what she screams:
Wah wa wa
Wah wa wa
Wah wa wa
Wah wa wa.

Alan Myouka Sondheim Index
The East Village Poetry Web
Alan Myouka Sondheim