Archive
11/03/09 - (2)
My Existence, My Life
My existence is a bullet shuttle weaving through creativity's loom, Back and forth and back, with dizzying insistence, A flawless continuity of rain-drop-steady momentum Dripping on imagination's rooftop, under a hovering harvest moon That knows not how to illuminate my deepest dreams Without them reaching critical mass, in my psyche's reactor, Exploding my frontal lobes' mainframe computers.
If truth be told, disclosed, exposed for what it really is — A sham, a fraud, a snake-oil Ponzi scheme, A Teapot Dome/Whitewater ruse, a Wall Street derivatives scam, Meant to swindle the entire globe of its middle-class wealth, Once it's ripped off the planet's pants, hung it upside down, naked — My life consists of little more than nothing less Than the loss of goods bought and sold below a lost cause's cost.
In other words, my life disappeared into thin, derivative air Dozens of long-gone long years ago, When what I believed was dripping rooftop rain from a harvest moon Capable of awakening my Pentium 8½ imagination, My plutonium-240 brain's bullet-shuttle loom-womb, Rose high inside the dreams above my mind's clear black sky, Only to detonate them, in a fit of unilluminated, apocalyptic fallout.
11/03/09 - (2)
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