There’s a sale on

Synthetic sweet syrup novacane,

Classic harbinger of

Seasonal celebrations.

Set your clocks by it.

The most accurate mark

Of the march of time.

Suck it down

So you can suck it up

A little longer.

Sugar keeps the sheep in line

And online.

Death of the human experience

All wrapped up in cellophane.

Global unhappiness,

The main corperate mission.

Trying any tricks to turn

The private altars of body temples

Into pure tax revenue.

Make our privileged pilgrimages

To Tequila Mountain.

Infernos are just another part

Of the equation.

There is no end to it.

(Or is there?

If you know, clue me in.)

Cycles of want and freedom

Fluster the signs at the

Burried Exhibitionist Networking Mausoleum.

Leaves loop-de-loop

As the world turns one more time.

The corpses dance in reanimated reply,

Guardians of the organic breeze

And all new life.

Watch and enjoy

As the crystal medicinals

Guide changing winds

For our worldly tribesmen.

I don’t create these accounts,

I’m merely a scribe.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s