The chemical dust of rain shot its soul onto the stop sign, which blew sideways from the opposite facing caravans of new thought, "The Thoughtless Carol." Caroling into the night to Ebeneezer who rejected the cold Florida moon echoing over its waters, shooting fireworks into the rainbow cured sour sky which was busy writing its suicide note, being fed up of the proses it didn't deserve. "Life is overrated." It said as it met its maker who replied, "I know what you mean..." There was a hurricane, or at least a harsh wind that scattered the hanging tree ashes around and we drove and gladly crunched over a youngly corpse and hit every deer and "dear life," which decided to look for loved and lost on the highway, "The Lost Highway." Yes I believe Hank hit the mark with that one. And the waves shook me and I awoke to a dream or maybe life and reality, if those words could ever truly be defined. The American flag whipped its tail and dipped its fresh ideas into negative pH leveled acid, corroding its stripes and bleeding the stars into a thirsty, scraggly ground which gladly ate the bits of ethnocentrism, stopping the grass from growing. Why? Because I had only twenty-some letters to choose from and these are the only words that should or could be made. The only words that ever deserved to be written. And I'm pretty sure this page is going to hang itself, because this is like the most boring poem ever and I'm a boring poet:
"A Poem's Suicide!"
"The Slit-Wrist Prose!"
"The Toaster-Bath Ode!"
"The Overdosed Elegy!"
"The Free-From-Life Free-Verse!!!!"