Without depths all they see
is the obvious terrain afore their long noses
in the sinking semblances of their lamentable Eden
heedlessly they walk together
drunk on untruths spewing from blanched fables
their five a day jive elixirs
propping up dreamless quests of pale pallid gamblers
purchasing paydays on hock
the means of vengeful asinines in anodyne contemplations
devoid of erudite grace
they belch and **** their inept offerings at the altars of nonentities
it all makes sense to them
to have voices albeit wasteful is still prized nonsensicalities to boot
its white's dark matter
the painful de rigueur that plagues the mindless in their dim shallows
and again..harlequins...again..one more time