NaPoWriMo #9: No One Will Go Hungry

You will be spotted
singing an obscene song
in an exquisite voice.
Angels will follow along,
the bouncing ball jumping
each word that accompanies
your performance, frying neon.
Splashing the biker movie
you can't stop watching,
blood will form credits
no one pays attention to
except you. The choir
behind you will explain
they'd rather be at
their own show, but
your subconscious
will pay too much
for them to separate
their lives, their spouses
asking them to repeat
the sounds of money
with their purple tongues.
Local churches will ban you,
a corrupt government
of secret chalices requests
you be tossed in the slammer
for not paying full taxes
on beauty. You will decide
that the pancake houses
need to hear you, replacing
the syrup as the stickiness
they paint blueberry with.
No one will go hungry
that day. No one will
remember what that was like.