Oh global pork,
seen in the sewer;
with the rest of your destinational derivatives.

The smell of your bathory abounds.

Giving the social workers
their architectural dung.

The Mind of the civil g-d,
incomprehensive and deranged.

That g-d itself
needs assistance.

Scores line-up
to help-
-the never-do-well.

Soon their g-d will appear again
without giving its name;
only exposing its composition...

Made of assorted care-takers
of its origin.

© S. Wesley Mcgranor

That take flight through the flight gates between the fingers
Flying to the destinational end, where hope and sorrow sit tandum in somber stare
With clashing hopes and dreams, against the head of the moment

How fast can the moment lose control?
It seems that answer will find oxygen in the coming minutes
With scotch tape bandages across the breast plate
Stopping the black bleeding wounds from exhausting the moment

Soon the world will swallow the light, and the titans will slumber
The cusp of reality will bleed into the bleakness of rain on asphalt
The moment will not know what to do then, how to go forward
It seems that the moment has passed, and it has missed its chance