stop and go
flight from
a restricted flow

altered narration
suggested sedation
and selective information

frustration
no chance for meditation
riding the tide
of impossible temptation
toward an
other worldly vibration

mechanical bats
creeping on the backs
of sacred and secret rats
pursued by a coven
of cloven cats
it’s a false start
absence of art

a secret villain
hiding in plain sight
one channel off and
we don’t fear
we lament, and repent
pacing in the palace of exile
as flowers are scattered across the floor

heavy anger charged in
satin sacraments
and now the peasants are upon us

cast out these medieval machinations
that are worn softly on saturn’s shores
because reality is just a dream
that most people refuse to wake from
and
i can’t help think that
fate is just a spoiled child
trailing a possession of conquered flesh
with souls spinning half dead to themselves

out of my element
and surrounded by
bodies circling
objective desire
i hear
cracked voices
in search of madcap women
as tall men
dressed carelessly
wander aimlessly
with eyes set to stun
they impress and regress
half spun
static death in vanity
image is everything

observations
too many
conversations
with myself
while
competition is laced with
suspicion and doubt
and there’s a certain
repetition of words
that resemble lives half lived

without warning
cosmic forces intervened
psycho cycles
iconic, impulsive, and redeemed
steering morality towards
uncertain ends

caught in the thrall of this
passive and temporary ecstasy
thought of as
interesting only in
secluded moments
i’ve got a rabid style
mapping a mystic mile
with a complicated
and lucid smile

neutral, passive, distant
and about to explode
i think i’ll die for awhile
and wait for mystery
in the next rebirth

constant concert with the tribe
locked in a melancholic vibe
there is a wealth of art
in the demise of this
sanitary sanity
so go now
gather the children
and teach them the art of power
striking sabbatical beats
upon the heart of every hour