I am connected to a balloon
the loon that saw me last was on the bow of the boat.
I have heard the crickets last song
and danced to it barefoot in the mildew grass.
I am lifted above the treetops,
my knee high socks snagged some leaves.
Reverent ruins in Icelandic sneers
strumming deeply into my fears.
Harpooned heirlooms gush entrails,
relapse into sadistic tortures.
Vibrating poles penetrate bones
necromancer Roman's golden throne.
Idyllic cadillacs rev up with fumes
shelter the scents in glass tubes.
Reverse the prayer praised to a God
that denotes a human as nothing more then a frog.
Vehemently senile..... go out to kill...... drink yourself
dead with poisonous revenge.
"Not to the death," a television voice speaks, "that will succumb
you to your rather pointless fate."
I am ruled by forces that I know of and see,
then why must I feel my heart beat?