Stylized. Chic. Logistically
situated atop a precipice that has yet to peak. We are alive, fully functional,
yet inherently winded. We live as we
live, ignorant and often ignored.
Flourishing in a sad derangement of philosophy, a tenor trembles, the
trebles high, the bass is broken, and the backsides collide in slates filled by
worthless plights. We are clustering in collapsible rings, and so the relics
flicker to a new decree, instilled anew in 1…2…3…
A high-fructose
dichotomy exists. The bling is sated on the side of outdated radio. There’s an alto sax playing, a barometric
drop a-glow with pressure. With the weather here who can know? Forward marching so shall we go? Alive, aloof, we are so disbelieving, always
looking for that definitive shred of proof, without, it’s all but din and
cacophony, a wasted sound spins in 1…2…3…
After and before,
before and after, centers of attention, mid-points for disaster, high-strung,
low brow, tensions mount, tackle box without bait, we can’t wait, we can’t
wait, to be free, to be free, never begins in 1…2…3…
Hi-fi, new wave, Wi-Fi
enabled sense of shame, a sentinel, vanguards of tradition take the fall, are
decorated with blame, a livewire flickers in the rain, shocking, shocking,
mounted atop the roof of mind, finding shelter beneath a tree, electrocution
starts in 1…2…3…
a stack of smoke breaks
free life’s soot, in stereo, in stereo…history beginning once again, do you
believe, can you believe, streaming live in 1…2…3….
Algorithms. Anomaly’s.
Stars, bars, lines and code, cracking, breaking free, a dynamic
apostrophe relates in 1…2…3…
A variety of
translucency bleeds light. A latent vibration echoes a shiver. Illustrations
and details, set a sail as elusive, it is nature this is not conclusive. The words are but representations of what
could be. They are only symbolic remnants, ruminations of sound, shattering,
stinging, stringing bolts together lightning fast, from which an atomic breeze
is distinct…sparkling strong in 1…2…3…
Eardrums bleed with potential.
Insinuations label the disturbed and mental, a domination of the populace
speaks to the decibels herein found, loud and proud, pounding pavement without
the soles of shoes ever once touching down to the stone of ground. Lies start
their spree in 1…2…3…
Pride, mounted, jib to
spar, cards dealt near and far, gonna let her ride, gonna double down. With a bluff so strong, you’ll have to have
the cards to match or else victories pronounced in 1…2..3…
A fire-fight on planet
Nero, golden bricks amassing zero, half-life dwindling, flashing fast, quicker
than a video blast, sub-cultured species, harnessed-reined, these are but men,
yet still heroes of a different dream, sandman strikes in 1…2…3
Another place,
another, realm, cast iron, zinc-plated, breast-plate smell. Glistening, gleaming
shapes, photons, protons, electrons swell as a neuron’s beam berates us well,
pattering upon the trip of wires, higher, higher, the pikes backed up, there’s
no way out, doubting the magnitude of what has just transpired, anarchy. Rioting in 1…2…3…
A turning zephyrs tail-spun
wisp, whipping round, made to shift, retching trees up from root. The severed
cracks spanning the ground, all is lost, nothings found. In a place so high, like Kansas singing from the
sky, Carry on my wayward friend, one day soon we’ll make amends. Until then, the past must persist as long as
our breaths still mist, gone again, gone again, marching orders coming quick,
dialysis is pronounced, the bile’s thick, black in nature, mankind's sick, the bile’s thick,
grey-black-brown-green cultivating this damaged scene, action cutting back in
1…2…3…
A serial apprentice in
a frost-bit state, alleviating a pressure mostly high, it’s gonna blow, it’s
gonna blow, anxiety trembles as tension grows, flames ignite and the tragic
flows, every swiftly, ever long, the pastures are a plenty, the iron-work is
not as strong as we thought. We were
wrong, we were wrong…our actions erred, our plots are lost, we’ve been caught,
red-hands bleed green. Disgrace curtsies
in 1…2..3..
We twiddle our thumbs
and hum our tunes, pass the buck and shoot the stag. There are those that believe in life yet
quickly opt for death. These are the yellow that we see, climbing so high up
into trees, scared stiff like cats with claws exposing themselves in 1…2…3…
Little green men are
arming up. They live below ground, underneath the craters of the moon, some live
in fear, others change their gears, holding signs, praying to, whatever probes
they will soon find. Ineptitude reaffirming
in 1…2..3…
A lulling gaze is
cast, it shines down upon me and you, you and me, and there we are and here we
see, a fallen society, reflected upon in 1…2…3..
Fear swims into and
out of mind. Some gets broken; some are
bound. Some lose sight; others are slighted before ever being truly found.
Numbing in 1..2…3…
There is true evil in play. It does exist, in
the arbors and the groves, in our biases and the hate that grows. It’s danger dangles
in the wind, it’s hounds are hunting, the scent is strong, lost soon becomes
found, humanity is digging their own plots to lie, worldwide evacuation begins
in 1…2…3…
Shingled, shackled,
neon sight, jingle, jangle, brilliant, bright, final, finale, fragments,
finite, tragic flow, traffic flow, oh so slow, all have stopped to watch the world have
itself a go, fireplugs, arsonists, jitterbugs are juking jabs and shuttling
stabs, we are as one here in this plan, painful… pain, Houston called. Problem’s been solved. Another acronym bleeds another sign. Abbreviations activate their launch. They start the clock that’s ticking free. Countdown’s
commencing in 1…2…3….
Fireflies in the sky,
burning through the night, galactic tumults sure shine bright. The comet’s tail
is trailing nigh. See the ripsaw shredding
through its test. Violating it’s own
principles for the camera. So many are
all too eager to show who’s best, itching to dominate all things in view. Close your eyes and deeply breathe, this may
get ugly in 1….2…3…
A conditioned response
rings that bell. Sounding chimes, pealing well. The heat, it grows. The sweltering spells a new communion steeped
in heat. In every nook a glutton
hides. In every shadow there lives a knife. Greed’s apace in 1…2…3…
1 to 3
1, 2, 3.
One to two
Two to three,
all is changed, yet
nothing has. All is through, all is done. Escape routes hatch. Eyes now
see. Eyes believe. What a view, what a
view, yet never realizes, it’s simply the same sights they’ve always been
accustomed to. Reframing stirs a new beginning in 1…2….3…
For all that’s
happened, for all that’s been done, we can only pray something positive from
this comes. Hope commences in 3…2…1…
