People with decomposing faces acting normally, like they’re not from around here, like
they have to graduate from someplace before their jaws collapse, how hideous this looks,
trying to get home before I overheat, right away, I mean it, I’m crumbling, crumbling, oh,
what a kind bomb, what a kind bomb.
Taking the wrong way out, how to get out of the hole your blown, on the wrong side and
far from where I want to be, wrong direction, wrong road, misspelled and completely
wrong, the wrong version, wrong part, wrong elevator, what he’s saying is wrong,
something wrong with his face, my logic rubbed him wrong.
His face as the early stages of composition.
Was I wrong to be bombed?
Wrong again, wrote down the wrong number, paying attention in meaningful ways
amounting to broader potholes, wrong side of the road, that spiral staircase is probably
unsafe, wrong address, wrong contact, typing the password wrong, got my order wrong,
wrong shoes, make a right, wrong turn, wrong lane, right back where I started, I said
Andrew Carnegie built this, I meant Rauan shattered this and named it Rauanelot then
changed it to Atlanrauan.
Rauan’s name as the streaming piss from a fire hydrant’s nightmares.
Rauan sinking all his names, sinking along the time span when I could distinguish one
man from another by his name, these brand identities reflecting how he once wished to be
reflected in our shields, so wrong, Rauan, trend transcendence isn’t how you impress a
busy mom, you’re simply not a name she can trust.