again she cried
As I lay down and
died.  A tickle
from a sickle may change
a dime into a nickel.  Although we
are told, when bread turns to gold, and when we die
we change to mold.  So I bow my head toward deceiving
moments of a photo that hasn’t been taken, drawn or remembered.
Here it is, the last race; the important dance around the burning bush.
Talking in dreams that had potential.  King and queens
ask why, and the jesters reply is nothing but a sigh.  Imperial
freedom in an industrial order.  Shock wasted dream and you’re nothing
but a butterfly to me.  Dazed untruth and the ink blots in my mouth,
I’m heading south.  Today we anchor the tides.  Into the dream the
girl is red.  Into a vision the taste is dead.  Philosophical scrimshaw,
Repetition in a bath full of disease.  Baffled enjoyment to fill
my cup with anticipation.  Stone hedge, lurks grave diggers.  SKULLDUGGERY
Merchant escape; plagued innocence and a paperback to read while
masturbation eclipses the drive.  Cars and trucks, toys for boys.
As long as the clouds cry the roads will be fill with hydroplane.
Air lift casualties and the desolate moan of an aching beast.
Dead ponds of toxic waste on this place controlled by a race that
has no value in a face.  We or me is the only thing that matters?
Stagnant valor, colors of skin, burnt embryo and the Indians sob
in a dry river.  Flowers that sing to the sun.  Peers challenge
the young.  No wonder we’re all fucked.  Think, for nothing
is nothing is something and something is nothing.  SURE?!  Friends
to consider, or two-faced persuasion.  Intricate dubs and thugs toward
the city we go.  Carnivores we’re not herbicides here to.  Junkies, yes
with the tastes of luxuries in between the seams, I hear a girl scream.
She cried again and all I could challenge was a peaceful night sleep.

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