mad tichalak

here we are – i and i and all the others – on a platform of fog and the display says someone says that someone says (though how anyone can read it who can say or also read) the next one’s in nineteen

mad tichalak’s had a heart attack and it’s dropped its dissertation

here we are – the siffleux and the zazarappi – in a digital display and the conductor says (though no one’s seen one here for ninety years) get out of there you bagbags

mad tochalok talks like a cuckold cock and its tresis theel is pipping

here we are – she and him and none and them and it – in a concession stand in big mister chew big fudges and we waiters munch in terpen time and the next one’s in nineteen

mad tackulik drops its cited dick in a faculty of footnotes

here we are – you if you weren’t in manufacture – on judgments so poorly engineered the conductor calls committees in geneva twaddling in its claptraps

mad tuckuluk on knees and hands groping for its chakras

here we are – and why are they still counting – on platforms of babbleuffionalities and it’s way way past nineteen and the conductor’s drunk and dead and we’ve eaten all the fudgy siffleux

mad techelek’s become a wreck of nanocons and oxyoughtens and drops its conurbations

here we are – i and why and weren’t and it and some remnant zazarappi – nineteen and the conductor gone – we’ve reached the dream and per the texts the dream’s the one inside it