Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Every Exterior Has An Interior Too

Aba doobie doo-wop a bee-bop a leeway and a Mack truck driving through the Calamine drips that caress in a flood of pink, cooling the fleshy rose tachometers ever straining to rationalize the constant upticks that scintillatingly chime in perfect unison; all things considered, performing under great duress is truly an art form, one that isn’t nearly revered enough.

When the heart beats in corners, ninety-degrees, perpendicularly angling, with hands made from broken rods of doohickey’s with their fiberglass design—reels, reeling, silver-screened, cones indicating the accident that was—while irises radiate in bloom, shining through a darkness overly exposed, ether, ore, mining the ship, minding the tide, galleys, gullies, valleys, druthers and galoshes dripping with the wetness of a withering rill—all beneath a skyline brittle in an unfavorable decline of will.

Solvencies do not mean you have found the answers that you desire.
Trivial does not mean minor, minor does not mean minute, nor do the miniscule expressions that momentarily find themselves soothing sores through the salves sealing those infected open pores—all the while indicating something much larger than what this deception of the skin could ever possibly provoke within.

Radial tread upon a sports car’s frame, blood red coat to a leathered interior of yellow. (Without thinking the 5.0 knows instantly who to blame) Shining, glossy exteriors cover and hide, the rotting premises within the motor itself.  Here and there and everywhere, one can run as fast as they can, yet never find the ability to escape what is, and continues to, writhe inside.  A pretty design can only cover a corrupt floor plan for so long before the stairwells rust and the plumbing leaks.  To which, even still, we refrain from properly diagnosing the true meaning, instead, we use words like fixer-upper, as if that alone, eradicates the pressures and the problems that we must carry home.  And we do, exactly this, don’t we? 

Oh well, you probably don’t care anyway?  Well…am I right or am I right?

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