FOLDING THE CONCRETE DOWN

impossibly heavy 75-foot concrete slabs 90 degrees up in the air

suddenly released from their theoretical superstring confinement

standing up for an instant

confused over their sudden white light freedom

start their leisurely downward fall to the ground

pulled by black gravity's drafthorse

whumping onto the ground

spurting up brief vertical clouds of jonie mitchell stardust

prefabricated new streets ready for

black metallic condominiums relentlessly blasting into our space

impregnating the soil where the cows once stood in luxurious sweet grasses

filthy T1 computer fiber optic plumbing lines

inserting themselves into our land

without permission

technocrat mosquitoes sucking blood out of their new host

uncorking bottles of lies onto newly shaved

tables of sin

created for the occasion