Let's keep all our clearcut martyrdom in zipped glycerines and muted trivialities, our inconsistent rainfalls in black syllables and sharp roadblocks, our dying notions in stale headlines and oversized bedrooms, our bland conversations in sharp failures and brighter nothingness -
Why did he do so?
Why didn't he?
Wasn't he meant to?
Did he fall asleep?
Was he missing his verdigris scarf?
Didn't his shoe fit him perfect?
Did he miss the bell, the dog barks?
Was it the shadow that pestered his frown?
Did they serve him the severed head of the black stallion in a sliver-rimmed plate?
The combs gathered. The files seethed. The noise echoed.
The spring slept. The roads winked. The ships jumped.
The sweat sailed. The voice burnt. The choice faded.
The beast shrugged. The imposter flew. The orchids grew.
The scenes drowned. The idiots got lost. And maybe got found.
And you are shoved into your throat the daily observances of pathetic lunatics, breezy cougars, and cheap suitmakers who travel in the thickets of Alaskan dreariness or clamped-down autocracies of woebegone Communists, or even wake up to howls of famished cats, underdogs or African molluscs when they search for dirigibles painted with Ten Commandments, LedZep ballads and bestial mockeries while fabled gunmen in gold-lined Aviators check for your vital fluids or dilating pupils or dysfunctional cerebellum at the dead of your most violent night.
____________________
Am I the only one? Am I the only one? Am I the only one?
*insert appropriate insignia of fallout burden, stale habits and unrectified ideas*
Why did he do so?
Why didn't he?
Wasn't he meant to?
Did he fall asleep?
Was he missing his verdigris scarf?
Didn't his shoe fit him perfect?
Did he miss the bell, the dog barks?
Was it the shadow that pestered his frown?
Did they serve him the severed head of the black stallion in a sliver-rimmed plate?
The combs gathered. The files seethed. The noise echoed.
The spring slept. The roads winked. The ships jumped.
The sweat sailed. The voice burnt. The choice faded.
The beast shrugged. The imposter flew. The orchids grew.
The scenes drowned. The idiots got lost. And maybe got found.
And you are shoved into your throat the daily observances of pathetic lunatics, breezy cougars, and cheap suitmakers who travel in the thickets of Alaskan dreariness or clamped-down autocracies of woebegone Communists, or even wake up to howls of famished cats, underdogs or African molluscs when they search for dirigibles painted with Ten Commandments, LedZep ballads and bestial mockeries while fabled gunmen in gold-lined Aviators check for your vital fluids or dilating pupils or dysfunctional cerebellum at the dead of your most violent night.
____________________
Am I the only one? Am I the only one? Am I the only one?
*insert appropriate insignia of fallout burden, stale habits and unrectified ideas*
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