Saturday, January 12, 2013

Little Bubble Blue

Straight out from the water in catastrophe
an eclipsing sun never tries the same way twice
to encumber the demonstrative noun.
I am a monster onto you.
I turn on for you
by electrical wires
dance with me, you fool.
Racing in hours of life
challenging me to be completely nude,
vulnerable on stage
in an exhibitionist's cage.
I assume you'll be swallowing down the
formidable coffee
just so you can presume the conscious space.
All the angry people at your face,
you continue to show no strain.
I envy your thought process.
What do your eyes see?

The last bubble does not disintegrate,
it merely accumulates The Waster's daughter, Julie,
to become your bride in post apocalyptic era.
Forgotten are the arts of the internet,
the text message speech of a lazy culture,
and the bolder egos of a nobody town (online forums).
A trash threshold is in regards to our human nature,
stagnant products that last many years
to connect to a faceless name?
Our hunger is growing,
we keep feasting on the ideas of what we can destroy next.
The glue does not hold.
Eyes do not stay blind.
Mouths do not keep silent.
Low energy, yet high tides
speech bubble hypothesizes speculate rhymes
counter-actions triple millionaire crimes

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