So this is where we are after all this
The end of something that never was.
I miss feeling like we were something and that the World was ours.
And the way you are and smile and look.
That the world was ours a grand delusion, about as real as Oz.
Dorothy is dribbling Toto along the Yellow Brick road her football
and the scarecrow is lighting the way with a match in his neck.
And the heartless man of steel is her broken car clattering along the plastic yellow cobbles.
And the lion is sundried biltong in her backpack, filling her stomach when she feels like a snack, rather than she his.

And they’re off to find the dirty old man in his jaded beer-bottle green paradise.

To get some answers.

Kansas calls.
She was bludgeoned over the head by plaster board and roofing joists and smothered by insulating foam
which tastes like candy floss.
And they spin in the teacups the centrifuge which pulls the shit close
and lets the air of life be slung everywhere but
her lungs as they fill with candyfloss
Kansas calls.
She falls off the teacups and they keep turning churning the
grass
to mud.
It turns to bitter unsweetened chocolate
and she waits for the
wizard and his flying
monkeys to rescue
her
Kansas calls
as her
glitter
filled
pink
shoes
melt
way.