Wrapped in Dust Mites

Scene of grey and green:
fuses, toys and such as gets

spread across a half desert/
half forest kind of place,

when with the flick of a switch
the scene changes (the wood too),

to a cluster of naked people
dipping themselves in clogged pools.

Numbed beyond what is attributable
to scenes and stuff: someone is depressed

north of here, a man in a Toyota
is punching the horn, another man

has taken a pole and thrust it
through the windows

of a small establishment, like some
swim-bladderless fish

pushing its gills from the soffocating silt,
bits and pieces of crap floating around,

things it should try harder to elude.
Its myth is a mighty bugbear

who never moves, never
changes place. Like a restaurant

where the service is horrible
but the meals tend toward the divine.