Balance Poem by Alexander Hawkins

Work in a bit more reality, they said. Eke out what you can.

Watch a waltz criss-cross across foully fragrant parades
to dodge a payload of puta falling from impertinent parakeets,
unbuttoned in shades of mushmelon and muskmelon.

Reality dawns - a patterned mess like cantaloupe skin, you can't elope,
even if you wanted to, which you don't - as if you have the time!
Distractions number higher than the workload.

Reality is folded in on itself, like artful origami. What do you mean I've used that one before?