there is nothing more than a withering exterior
and an ever brightening interior
laying out on the strange bed of concrete
the night forever forgotten to his lengthening
whiskers floating in saliva and the prohibition era
lost in the life of the chaotic hum
where those at the top are too high on their laurels
droid robotic fighter jets dropping hypocrosies
of paranoid religious ideology
creed slithering snakes of greed and deceit
i see the writing on the wall
i read what i see
and it ain't for me
oh but the mutating life in the belly of the mother
ready for me
ready to launch out in the screams of
vibrating vocal cords
the umbilical cord of the angelic pegasus
will this be the we and us
we've been looking for
sipping on cocktails on the clear blue shores for
only a day of tripping on the mushrooms of truth
as worms of magic ripple under the surface
and tell you there is more to know of
the door way to another dimension
as it is cracked
it may be more withered
its wood is petrified
like my ghostly state in the face of the new
state of a higher being
the higher ground
i unravel all truth
i push myself for higher sounds
speaks across a spectrum of history
how much further does the collective consciousness
have to go to attain its mystery
this isn't novel but astonishes
those in misery
as much as it may whisper
thru the vapor trails of cackling digitized voices
all along its alleyways
in this interconnect web of hysteria
propaganda
lies
still
beautiful connections through
the circuitry of technology
seeing
hearing
knowing
what sort of will of a people
resides in its jungles &
other urban environments
as it calls for some sort
of philosophical discernment
of what this all really means
but does it
merely consist of
the jackals of heaven rain down
from the mouths of false prophets
with out any miracles
only a history of egos preying upon
the mystified eyes of the unknown
groveling to the secrets of
a green zone hiding from the people
lobbing bombs as their lives
through your flattened high definition televisions
the carpet burns
there is a screaming from the inside of the mansion
the prince sits still
his face melting like the cobwebs in the attics of suburbia
pelting fate and destiny grafted to his bubbling skin
the orifice of his mouth
a tongue lashing the poor with seventy strokes
of a lasso of rusting nails
the slaves of our world have paid the price
for their irrelevancy
until we step forward into the light of truth as a society
stand up
kill the piep pipers tooting their own horns
for a piece of a gurgling, slithering Hutt of a pie
we stay shackled
and lost
but not to the life we can give
for the love that bursts from the sieve
to make this suffering all the more
worth its own while in front of a ticking clock
merely an illusion of a far greater conclusion
of a collapse of everything
and the life continues amongst the pebbles
and marbles of the multiverse
can you hear its call?
can you imagine yourself
not as a listless, wandering creature
but alone in a space station?
writing on this blog
speaking about how man has finally done it
beaten death
with an immortal breath
we can but only continue through
the galactic beckoning fog
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