Day of the Cicada
When jeweled princesses hop the
moebius strip at Monte Carlo
and undular snow leopards camouflage
in black-tie casino queues
When the Grand Wazoo of all
creation reveals a weary countenance
and silver-gowned women pose
cigarettes-holders like Jean Harlow
When snowy citizens advance in
dreaming herds like rams and ewes
and grand dames and grandees with
frozen smiles distantly dance
When stylish sexless rituals by
societal pressure auto-coagulate
and dunces in corners and scowling
judges all mannerisms regulate
the Day of the Cicada has
visited itself upon our unholy habitation
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