armored in their neon glitter latex
they plunder the night to ravage themselves. ‘
a movement of collective self-abuse
on a promise of i don’t give a damn.
the lush garden of their forefathers
has been trampled over with cliché
leaving only jellified mud tracks
and sharp fragments of red Solo cups.
cyclic techno boils raw blood
seducing forth a suppressed self.
secreting angst through lustful pores,
they gyrate into a third beer.
everywhere cleavage and tongues
dense smoke clouds and peer pressure
stagnant stories against strobes
like the space between boxcars.
her body is a cage
and his mind is in chains
but here in chaotic
entropy, they are free.
fist pumping they cry
screw you mom and dad!
dismantle the fence
this is the real dream!
between dry heaves.
mops the floor.