In Case We're Kidding.

A warehouse full of narcotics has no pull.
A state of awareness cripples the holder’s hand.
The timid electives howl behind their closed doors,
shaking and barking as if they were untamed dogs.
Pedestals once shiny are crumbling.
The end of the world is ultimately collective.
Circuits of currency are running out of spark.
Somebody get him down from the ceiling.
He’s been up there since the moment we got here.
Win some, lose some, a bet is never right
on the wrong end of the bill.
Temperature rises, as do they,
welding their hands to the high rise chandelier.