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.
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.
Castrated states of binary stars,
Trekking beyond and across
Venus, Neptune and Mars, gave
For the sake of slaking their programmed
Purposes, ever changing, like our seasons,
Mates proposed dissimilar postulances
In dislocated downward heavinesses.
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.
Pushed to the fray at the cornerstone,
Those eyes would make empty promises,
Promising vapidities inside nonexistent threats,
Mostly in vain. Except
For a countless primal truth,
Within items that were collected there,
Before the lull in their oncoming decay
Predisposed to words that had been like
Lyrics to the lovely song posted down below.
Xyloid peonies tossed and turned on the minute eve,
Talking about heavenly images of grains, (a
X kind of naiveté) in a reflective diasporic;
Relevancies in, “nah, my correlative rhetoric
Basis lies in an unbirthed story”, into a broken holo.
Bygones in the unimaginable as purposes flew.
It was a sense of normalcy
She had wanted
‘Stead of wanting
That, I won’t let her have.
I hear you, my sweet, sweet, little muse
However, me thinks I’ll play with your
Thoughts in delusions instead.
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
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.