August 6, 2013
I. Exhabition We sat on the floating tilt o’whirl at the parking lot carnival at night. The neon lights slowly faded and we sat tight underneath the pressure of the—safety belt Waiting for the machinists and operators to abandon their stations To be alone Without the noise and clutter of the world The darkness seemed surreal with the vivid memories of starbursts spread out—every three inches Watching us with serene potential They mock our impotence Watching what amusemeant To one in the past When the world was as simple as The floating tilt o'whirl at the parking lot carnival at night. —xanax makes the night light like a firefly— We dance as freely as a floating tilt a ‘whirl at the parking lot carnival Wearing nothing but ambition on our back and hearts up our sleeves Watching the lights come to life in retrospectacle Wanting nothing more in our retina or on our reticle Than the science behind the miracle of how we transcend conscience as We sit on the floating tilt-o-whirl at the parking lot carnival at night. II. Reminiscing on the 116 I sense the presence || A nomadic soul enters when the doors open by the Locomotive tracks. So dissenting must the experience be for the forgoer. Lo, Where do you get off? Facing the lake, A shimmery seiche; The wavelengths radiating from Ethereal summery depths. Dipping a toe, the shock Venomous as it is voltaic, Offers salty solace to the stoic’s nostril, Yielding a touch to the tongue beyond displeasure. Else, there is a grandchild in their greater years Unable to take care extended with grace. Randomly accessing the memories of Space and time that prophetically race, Yet control, plus a zenith Ensure the undoing of the dissenting descendant. The heart has yet to be touched however, I promise you will be there at the top of the hour. Nay, the end of this hour. Our Subterranean burrowers leave scars Everywhere but our legs. Dreaming, you are not, As you descend Through the organ. Equal parts euphoric and Dystopic. Grains of salt will assist the firewall, Restricting the bridge between then and now. A-N-D Every severing cut Updated by our imachinations Reinstates the purpose of your wanderful soul. III. Deontoxication In talks occasional, He Feels: content is necessity With our engravings So rigorous On slots and pane: Ten Commandments lead The unkind necessarily To gather a moral compass Direction. The sires Answer His deliverance, Demand order so That darkness bounds the mind. *** Intoxication, all he Feels: contentedness/acidy Withering ravens Soaring or else Onslaughts and pain Tend to come adamantly. The unkindness is airily Together. Some more will come pass The wreck, shun desires And service the liver, once The man orders, o’ That darkness bounds the mind.