Collapse is like a train wreck in slow motion.
It's all but believable to those drinking the potion.
Whether it's potions or pills or pageantry,
or pomp or pernicious tomfoolery,
the invasive lies never hang dry,
on the clotheslines of wholehearted insanity.
---------------------------
Tip, tap, tip resounds the pitter-pat-pit of the titmouse
Little feet wrought little feats of jumping wing-flap bouts.
Inconsequence and docility shadow them whole,
they bear the strength of enfeebled foals.
No matter how clangorous the feigned bouts are
the pigs still rule with iron-fisted snouts,
souls as black as tar.
------------------
Benumbed by dumpiness
Betrothed to frumpiness
Jabberwocky, Blatherwocky
Blithely we go
She or he or it, no matter.
Androgynous, prodigious, quite vicious?
Who knows?
Pickled to the din of roaring traffic
No bludgeon or truncheon or stick to fight back with
Helicopter madness; vodka-sodden sadness
What's the point of November the fifth?
A celebrated day to die-hards, blowhards alike
Where's the bloody rage? Where's the fervent sage?
Where's the bloody spikes?
Cheek, venom, outlandish backlash
Traits of a bygone epoch;
gone in a flash
Inconsequence and nonsense prevails
We're flapping in eddies like wingless quails.
------------------
Grains in the sand
An earth-bound primate stares at a star
A star from afar; twinkling and bizarre
Did it just move? Up and then down?
Or was I just dreaming? Colorless without sound
The milky way hangs above me like an omniscient arch,
billions of billions of miles apart
Alien lifeforms completely unknown
to 'grain of sand' earthings convinced they're alone
We're a mere spec of dust in hyperdimensional space,
unwilling to transport ourselves to another place
Internal exploration is what we have left
It's a vital step for the curious and deft
Those willing to venture away from charted land,
acknowledge that they are mere grains in the sand.
29 Aug 2011, 3:30 am
