Copland

 

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In copland everyone is a cop, even the cops are cops. If a cop points a cop at you you can cop him & claim cop-defense. But then a cop will ring out, the sky will fill with cops, and a cop-load of cops will descend from the sky, arms cops with cops growing from them. Everywhere, from the walls, oozing from the earth, cops will merge with cops, the street a gross miracle of cops with their hands in the asses of cops, licking cop upon cop. A cop with cops for eyes will speak cop to you, but you’ll only hear cop. Everything in the air will burn with the hot coffee of cops. Somewhere, in another universe, a cop throws his coffee down & leaps into a whirlwind of flames to be transported to copland. And this is the only peace you or I will know. & everything will burn with the hot glue smell of cop-hood, and cops will descend from the lincoln monument riding large, hooved cops & their visors will blink on and off & every inch of negative space will be filled with cops, & then finally the beautiful city will be safe, suspended in amber in a mason jar, on a thin string connecting two towers that are invisible beams of light going straight to heaven where god is a cop unhappy to see you.