The End

Miracles exist,
So many that it’s shocking.
Surely we can’t resist,
To sometimes go Sherlocking.
This hairpin is a clue,
If this headstone is a mystery
Whose tenant has been screwed
By high wind and history.
There is a snake inside the office.
There is a weight inside the airplane.
The scientist creates
Another strain.
The pin-up was pent-up,
Her patience was spent up,
On clothing and close-ups,
And 2 minute touch ups.
Blown by the airbrush,
Dolled up and drugged up,
By 5 minute fuck ups,
With hairbrush and blood lust.
But now that she’s safe,
And away from the scene,
She keeps getting voicemail,
On her message machine.
They sing,
«Call me when you want to have it all again.»
Leave a teardrop on the rooftop,
To evaporate at dawn.
Maybe it’s an SOS for who it falls upon.
I know that it’s a long shot,
But it’s one I’m counting on.
Dreaming Dimwits take a stand,
On this night we must demand,
Let the microscope be damned,
By the hammers in our hands.
Calmly we’re dissolving
On the exit frame.
These are unusual fissions.