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Description
we live in a plantation of wires, of ruptured
tires – of dragged asunder
dreams & of cotton candy strings;

phantasms are common, merely
lost inside the chasms, & we all hold hands under
a rotting sun, under shunning the chosen one;

a people of pure blood, we’ve said – falsehoods,
are all that we’ve bred;
can you believe, can’t you perceive?

the trees are wreathed in
smiles; velvet veins drag on for m i l e s,
yet we still try, yet we still lie;

when taciturnity falls to you, to the moon,
our existence com pro mises –
held at filament’s cove, held to the blades of jove;

my insides are woolly yarn & with buttons
for eyes, you seem so surprised –
“no sir, i simply feel much more a l i v e…”

pitter-patter of a long forgotten tabby,
a pulsing tatter, of our mourning mentalities
that once jeopardized our realities;

we expect nothing more, nothing less, nothing
but our repulsive jest; hold fast,
hold hard because our ghosts are already racing past;

seas of split-open, magnanimous &
cut (ripped) apart plights…
“dear, can you please turn off the l i g h t s?”

Description
we live in a plantation of wires, of ruptured
tires – of dragged asunder
dreams & of cotton candy strings;

phantasms are common, merely
lost inside the chasms, & we all hold hands under
a rotting sun, under shunning the chosen one;

a people of pure blood, we’ve said – falsehoods,
are all that we’ve bred;
can you believe, can’t you perceive?

the trees are wreathed in
smiles; velvet veins drag on for m i l e s,
yet we still try, yet we still lie;

when taciturnity falls to you, to the moon,
our existence com pro mises –
held at filament’s cove, held to the blades of jove;

my insides are woolly yarn & with buttons
for eyes, you seem so surprised –
“no sir, i simply feel much more a l i v e…”

pitter-patter of a long forgotten tabby,
a pulsing tatter, of our mourning mentalities
that once jeopardized our realities;

we expect nothing more, nothing less, nothing
but our repulsive jest; hold fast,
hold hard because our ghosts are already racing past;

seas of split-open, magnanimous &
cut (ripped) apart plights…
“dear, can you please turn off the l i g h t s?”