Tuesday, September 17, 2013


In response to the suspicion of these seven deadly,
Lyrical sweet medley,
In every color
Balance beam walking dream visions
Above the debauchery and derisions,
Be you part undercurrent flail about nightmare
Fattened by the many stares
That scoff at your share?
By rejecting the flares and self indulgent fares
Of those that inhabit your Earth, this dirtied receptacle
That pays dearly for their spectacles
In many ways
As you count down the days
Tightrope tippy toe slow
Wide open plain stroll without care
To climb up the ladder,
Chew on your fodder,
“But hey, you idiots, this is America!”
Have ye no shame ,
Have ye no inner honorable flame
Be it famine or fame,
Squeaky clean surface or stain,
“How can you just stand there,
We’re all going to die!”
They wrote it on their hands as kids,
Let it roll around,
And when that day finally came,
Grace in the face of endless fire, reborn.

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