I am drowning beneath an infinite ocean,
entrapped within a world of chrome and plastic.

plastic lacks understanding of the way
that the wind has been blowing for the past

hundred thousand years.

the breeze has allowed souls to set sail
carried consciousness amidst colossal waves

towards crimson creeks of hate.

chrome and plastic knows not of the black or the white,
for reality is composed of repetitive sounds and vibrations.

perhaps it is pondering the peculiarity
of the projectiles stunting the growth of gardenias.

or perhaps it is simply appalled that
when we tilt our heads backwards
and open our eyes...

we are no longer mesmerized.