Thickening agents’ colloquial reverse,
Painted on thin signs,
Plastered as it were to walls,
This drops parasite information;
Glued chopsticks as reformation
To heal a sculpturally lost generation.
In the vicinity
As child insists to dream,
Caricature wedding rehearsal,
As it was,
So it is;
The dentures and indentured,
Plotting twists & twisting plots,
As though a Rohypnol tangerine,
Were as close as some had seen,
The fragrant aroma of napalm;
Here, in the country of
Narcissists and queens;
A demographic claimed
And arrogance perceived as fact,
With little migrant lulls between
Complacency and comprehension.
Right as the bell cracks,
I repair my bicycle and come,
Deep into her woods, where
Foxes have dens, and birds have nests;
Here I play “The Cricket,” on guitar,
Piecewise but fluently stroking out
The segments of the song.
Densification with a collaborative flair,
Justification of the wealthy,
The Greeter’s Garden;
Where symbiotic elements arise,
Through a filter of fire.
And as the Holy Ghost,
Lays claim: Apocalyptic refrain,
A justification by faith,
Swerves and hits head-on;
The righteousness junkies,
And the heretic’s dormitory.
An obnoxious perimeter of scorpion blood;
Picking scabs on the first date,
Doesn’t matter just how deep they go.
Littering the pavement
Taking the taxi
From one metronome
Stop to the next,
I do my best
To carry on a synthesis
Of reproductive disintegration,
Purging sounds and all around
The fires her heated temper.
My Caramello smile,
It hurts for me to wear;
Drown out the plasma center
With phone calls,
And treat the
Nuclear Holocaust days
As a spiritual retreat;
Binding the medical doctors
To the oaths we take when
Night has fallen,
And the graves dispense
Of all their bones and flesh.
Speaking misogynistic pluralities,
While the melons mold,
And the old folks homes
Are gassed in silence,
Awaiting orders to pass the torch.
Past retained in the indirect connectors
Which displace time and space,
Between frantic calls to Normandy.
Greek yogurt flight path;
Migratory taste buds turned sour.
And when Gregory held the sword
To the throat of my oppressors,
The cakes and ice creams
Of my birthday party parade,
Melted and molten like lava,
Oozing down around my castle walls.