jenn-gardnerWhisper

Canadian
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InsignificanceI’m lost amidst the closets of curiosities, / Trapped within the fibres of a page. / Desperately humming lackluster songs of
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progression towards mass megalomaniasalvation seldomly succumbs to desperation / solitude is swinging it’s black bat at my ribs. / i must be insane.
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calling the clusters by their right nameas you trod upon your floral dream-world / pierots on pillows gaze. / watching you with
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The Insanitorium“Sanity is not statistical.”- George Orwell / The tour guide elucidates black and white scenery. / Unamused clients grow weary of following blindly…
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CommunionWill you please pin my shaking hands to the quivering universe and let me engage in communion? Because lately I have been feeling like a lonely colour in a soundless scape of unending sensation. Too weak to cling tightly enough for any whisper of permanence to latch itself to my soul before it gets caught in the door shutting on their technicolour fatalism. Let me tie my noose to the stars before they fall from the heavens in energetic heaps of light. I will tumble to the dirt alongside the hot white waste expelled from a realm where the gods will weep at the hedonistic horror disguised as modern drops of reality. Let me come to rest in the core, lie motionless among the charred remains of all that we once thought holy.
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The Unfortunate Death of a Purple PuppetThere’s a girl with a purple complexion, / Black eyes and stark white pupils. / Blue and white feathers atop her head.
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Striving for RevivalAll. / The mindless purchases / The green leaves we inhale
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The Neon Menace of MeaningThere’s a sale on neon miracles, / Everything must go. / Half price.
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You Are the HangmanYour omniscient presence kills. / Burrow, Burrow. / Deep into my gray, ailing soul.
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TransitRaspings of the street’s lament. / Secretive, / commonplace,
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