…you face a desperado whipping out good ol’ six-shooters hip squirting water onto laughing children tumbling onto grass burning lava blackening skin yelling at mausoleum insects sliding along weird buccaneer whims while hunters slaughter porpoises trying not to swallow salt drown silt sloping into swampmoss dreams catching will o’ wisps the feeble lights of refugee choked ferries barreling off niagaras into the frothy lather of crisp root beers the drunken revelers dash to and fro a vee of geese turning the sky into a blue pie a thinker discovered like gold in bathwater the glee of man children pinned by escape velocity darkening atmospheres unbreathable by gasping toad persons warty to the very end of the child’s fingers threatened by nail clippers across the heaving oceans of heady wine and cut cheese the mice sample mixes by the ipod generation’s wild growth unheeded by misers and miseries alike kin by spirited vim bubbling over desk jobs flowing through many a dry mirage where…