welcome to light-city where a dead-****** is on the back of a golden goose head thrown back in rigor-mortis, days old
1. the plaza is on fire one man walks out his delirium into a derelict-town with so many glittering-lights on an unhealthy-sheen to his face.. some melted skin he seeks the looted-gold the long-plaited one assured was his he can't hear the dark-whispers right behind him his shoulder-blade itches with a fury no typical-scratch can relieve nor can he sense the violent-energy half-crackling in the air hovering in the wings of that dry-wind.. in sullen hiss-spits
2. elsewhere, many give thanks on the prairie where daffodils fly free in love a motorcade of bikers with a moon's view bespectacled-waiter can ask for help one child holds in hand.. so many open-answers that adults just fail to see and dreamers dream *the same dream in a broken, incredulous world (you can't hide away in your dreams they over-foam your running-legs) yes.. scamper..! beware those pretty-wigs who tug at firm-minds who force you to skirt the true-issue you plain-refuse to see what you're tripping over in case it resembles that.. stuff inside
3. there's a hue of bright-orange in the distance and you can't deny it it is there you can't see it yet but you can smell it within an arc of heightened-paranoia it has started burning inside the back of your afrighted-eyes drying out any recollection of estranged-promise in a hopeless land of artifice be not perturbed by fumes which rise in choking-plumes the workmanship of assiduous imps, dutifully-bound beset to task all goodness and beleaguer any hope that only the blind-man can feel in bones-vibrated
(bring forth your legs tarry not sing with fully) heartened to glory of light there be a breaking in the pattern not everybody made it so less power to the battle
with a half-smile of patience (she says) - within your dream.. I'm there I call you forth into real-light here..
S T - 30 nov 13
close your eyes and see the beautiful fields nature's harmony.... lift, lift, lift the heart
:)
sub-exit: party and privy
disabler of dreams poor relenter of schemes mauled by media coated by propaganda
where princesses hunted like wild-animals and chased by sleek-foreigners into tunnels like frightened rabbits who never come out the other side who's really behind it all?
where daughters of pop-kings in ostensible suicide-attempts left alone.. afraid to speak
where rebels with just-cause feel final December-folly leave sons and widows
there be those party and privy (to inside-stuff so scary) but less said...
save your salt for mountain-goats and for sweet-soil sanctity