i am finally feral enough to listen to experimental music & hear my soul take its bra off,
scratch its crotch & dig wax out of its ears.

feral women blow kazoos into balloons while pregnant-with-power-boys guard their beards from trending out.

tumbling in a tumbler, industrial-size dryer at the old laundromat on Westlake. better than
tumbling with you.

outside, a haunting fake choir hums as cars race on highways coming to screeching stops
in patterned intervals.

when are you going to stop measuring humans by this false ruler of perfection. where have all the sinners gone.

feral women secretly long to be hunted & domesticated in equal measure.

a movie score for an obscure art film directed by feral women in Bulgaria.

will this tension in the music of our apocalyptic days ever break, drop into a bridge full
of melody?

feral women are crossing bridges to a place that feels like freedom but it’s a simulation
& we are trapped.

trap music in aeroplane full of feral women on their way over the rainbow, draped in rainbow
tattoos & popping rainbow Skittles.

heaven waits for feral women who were not afraid to dance to the beat of their own drum app.

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