stop with a start
and hit the hammer hard
with threaded, hazy energy
don’t wait
for the naked star
to come calling

swim in swells of a new media
and love this frustrated illusion
as silver hands
grip copper pens
and fingers wet
with earthly anticipation
write fatal fantasies
in lieu of
of our shared
sadistic realities

majestic, mysterious mountains
call to the moon
like mouthy malcontents
waiting for
another autumn adventure to arrive
as the grey wolf calls twice
at midnight
searching for the perfect mate
and a singular owl
hunts on a parallel path
with that sacred,
and seditious alley cat

fueled by furious clicks
the numbers of anxiety
are abandoned
as style submits to
a carefully crafted sanity
and softcover death
conquers compulsive playgrounds
of our magnificent and obscene art
leaving nothing but
standardized souls in it’s wake

all this
i observe
from safe
and extinct
cameras of consequences
drowned in the ambience
of another secular inquisition