Mindscapes and microphones
Joy turns to sour within a syllable
Eastbound, down, brainless drives
Only to meet mirrors
What’s left to say
I can’t save them, those, they; whoever needs saving
Life is nothing but heroes battling faceless villains
Atop kegs of dynamite in a sawmill strapped to a log
You know the one I’m talking about
Not once has the hero given the villain the finger, wished the victim the best of luck, and walked off into the sunset whistling showtunes
How many more years until the costume doesn’t fit anymore
The fuse sizzles closer
How was YOUR weekend?
The Gonzo Wolf 
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