Midget Mardi Gras
There are huge paper mache heads
(or perhaps they're real flesh)
atop small bodies.
These figures are jerkily dancing to loud, pulsating music.
(the way I'd imagine midgets would dance)
Everything is lit by brightly coloured strobe lights;
a Mardi Gras for morbidly Mongoloid midgets
except this party isn't fun,
it's overripe with the smells of rape and thievery
fear frenzied with rage and debauchery.
The air is clogged
with tinsel, shiny confetti, slivers of mirror, mica, and tonnes of glitter;
it's raining down, and I breathe it in.
I'm trying to escape the pumping music, the stomping painted midgets,
these decorated dwarves clutching their barely bulging crotches,
their laughter heavy, dizzy, and hysterical,
twirling long metallic ribbons of silver, red, turquoise, purple-black;
all on long sticks.
Reflecting and flashing, liquid mercury airdancing violently.
I breathe in more glitter and wake up coughing.