Bubble Baths in Derelict Castles

As a boy, I grew up in the Sixties
eating Philadelphia Cream Cheese
in Philadelphia, PA,

so it all made sense.

But derelict castles belching plumes of smoky afflatus
were already rolling over distant terrain,
intent on finding me.

Most of the messages I get
are the same, weighing the dangers and pleasures
of genital bioluminescence.

Since most of the messages I get are the same,
it’s likely most of the messages you get
are the same.

There's enough not-knowing to go around,
from "Austere Figure in Bubble Bath"
to the Long Expulsion Event—

but most of the messages I get
are history squeak
via Fricciones.

Even if I stand closer
and look at them side by side,
I can no longer tell Friday from Saturday.

And I still have
the unshakable feeling
that everything's a placebo.

Remember that lifespans are galloping, anyway,
with a concomitant boom in late-stage health and vigor,

until conked on the head
in the room of flying portraits.