bachelors like publicists
pushing something to your press outlet
rockstars, egomaniacs, and reality scripters
chain-smoking in the greenroom, awaiting their turn
to audition for the roll of the die

sloth is checked by radar here
gotta keep driving
past the narcissists and fame junkiez
shooting up
their thumbs to hitch a ride
to the part of town you find yourself cruising late at night
and ain’t no one knows the map to this place but you
so when you say you’ve gone astray
what you’re really mean is it’s just a fancy way
of thinking of your life as a reality tv show
where all your secret lives
and double identities
compete for a pathological prize
each trying to outdo the others
in a battle for sensationalistic supremacy
of a remote island
where you are the the native god,
human sacrifice,
and host

all at once.

and you can’t stop here.