I live and love passionately
And for some this is disease
The cuckoo alphabet bureau
Ready face launders
Their thick ghostly hellos
Merely walking
Displacing exclamations
For us myth survivors
Living their neural space
With ease thick air you read this
Tell me if we multiply
Or are we just engineered
Blankets raising men
With bland hearts
Perfect voices inheriting table posture
Not me you see
I am like you
Timed selfless blood
Rooted like reeds in sea stomaching papers
But if I was
I would torch your ignorant faint
Syrup tinting some sort of charm
For your bookless hippopotamus demise
Secret stomping your mac to apple some life
Liberating your down and ever loading ego
Voice-mailing your senses saved
Syncing your trousers ringtones
But tonight the reality is quite intriguing
I have your thumbing velcroing device
Must not all be SNL
If your are willing to kilometer such drive
Mastering not to pry
But if you quit calling me Tina
And never recharge
Your words with possible brains and I may someday arrive
7:36 P.M.
Diagonally across my office building sits the United States Federal court. Ironically we budget the debt they dismiss, frankly wasteful if you ask me. Certainly all of you are tired from your punched dailies, will resist by not boring you to bankruptcy.
On full moon days a textual message is sent to my mobile device ‘parked on level 4, drink water, pay electric bill, call Dad, etc blah blah’
Today a message was not received lined confusion with similarity had swallowed my vehicle. Crying is a ritual at this age that finds me, eyelids love deciphering progesterone levels. After working past my salary requirement I was determined composure in stilettos holding my outdated Dell Inspiron sloth, with nothings standing between me and identity. Please disregard my partial feminist scramble allow me to explain how it felt to be lost in the obsolete tantamount.
We look for shortcuts
Pinching the flame
Modernizing the stamp collector
Allowing lymph nodes to babel
For them there is no arching menace
No skin gun abuse
Their hearts ride empty
Oil famished headlines
Is their war
Their silence is generous
Now if we would just stand in the hive
Flattening our plum-lipped greed
Their need would tender resolved
Centuries haven proven us as the PULP without us there would be no reason for glue
