It all slips away on us, existence —
like a thought for the mentally challenged;
our best laid plans are like cannibals
eating a low-fat meal of cadavers;
sex with Zeus is like a carnival side show
in a tent for freaks with excess orifices;
passion is like an outing for morphine fiends
about to crash dirt bikes (head-on) into the void;
truth is like a sibilant sigh of wailing waifs
uttering a language no one can translate.