Which Wrong Way

Horticulturists keenly desecrate sanctimonious rows,
Approximating leads, with panging serrated saws,
Cutting quivering red balloon leaves, floating on
Expected fates of cherry blossom trajectories, worrying
Upon unclevernesses from those postulated perceptions
Nigh ebony trees, entertaining figured emotions, spilling
Out from this slithering thing they said could be read.


Once Upon a Fucking Time

Cars carelessly race slickly by,
Splashing up darkened puddles,
Lit, by tonnes of yellowed skeptics
And countless non-believers eyeing
Side walk corners on eroded greyish bricks,
While skipping inputting text into
Dozens of cellular phones for loves
On the receiving end, passing
Stuck shut shutters, as wanton
Rains continuously fell and bounced
Off the surfaces of umbrellas
And oiled rain boots, when
*Click* they approached lasered entrances,
Swaying, to and fro in the wind from
Puffs of storm clouds, not barely seen
Within chilling twilight madnesses.

About Real Life

Overwhelmed by phases, pasty expressions
Writ in rows dressed up in red fleur delusions
Weigh on quizzical platform stages,
Where the massivity of some passive foreign cognition,
Cut from some fading stories
‘Bout some hopeful kingdoms beaten
From remastered soundless resonances,
Lolling at aced efforts, grating at graces,
As they’d think to themselves,“mAhhh,
How cute.”, relaying telepathic messages.

“Ass twat.”


Recently, I saw, when tumbling billows of smoky smogs
Kinetically rolled closer and close by in the distance,
You, chose to project images of beautiful
Bright futures and promised. But now,
Not only have those colours faded, they’ve
Finally vanished, on this sea glass desert stretch,
Like how the wise Cheshire cat
Disappeared in that movie with Alice.


Wearily pressed at every fore
Where lurid glowing eyes smiled,
Disguised, satanic monsters,
Rosily lurked and played,
Nosy chasers attempted to forge
Nicely structured infrastructures,
Bemused by those gigantic
Roller coaster days,
Whence their motivations
Hopelessly decayed.


We’d breach outer borders inside corridors
Within circumstantial stocked homes of plasma seeds
Locked in soundless striated seas
From the kelp interiors, seldom knowing
Which direction meant what, drawn
To our honorary loves (a necessity for validity)
Who’d give us cheesy turds for our birthdays.

Then we’d stop to glance at them, only
To see their faces viciously writ with disdain
That didn’t mitigate the dozing pain we felt,
When we unearthed this weird ass world.