We all saw her scream—
the Russian queen from Lisbon
in Persian rugs and copper art, her chemicals
feasting on the blood of the insane
as she stood unaware
in tired mutations of the same dream, sifting
through endless silos at the speed of light
static as a rock.
Slums big as mansions lay small under the night sky as luscious manifestations oozed out of towers in Berlin and through the sprawling streets of Tripoli and Teheran.
Screens pegged the masses, shining like the Mongolian desert, and sizzled Kashmir chased the icebergs north of 60.
And the willow tree stood there weeping
like a willow tree.
And the moon shunned like the moon.
And the stars shunned like the stars.
"b-side" was first published by the RPD Society (Vol. I, Issue XII, Nov. 2014).