The demotive glow surfaces misplaced or displaced,
trying to be part of something and sprouting predictions,
falling short from eyes of something & quickly being replaced,
with a misaligned inside and stretched from wishful derelictions.
do this and that, be this and that, and never chance being revealing,
potential stems from self-castigation and a sense of self-congratulations,
avoid weeping and being manipulated by the perceptual reality of being,
consciousness does not capture realistically wet colorless expectations.
stop look and glisten then to solve our problems before we delve in,
shrapnel’s of shooting stars falling under our open eyelid caravan,
your letters came across our eyes admitting false recollection,
postcard like memories threading a quilt of lonely san-fran.
i haven’t thought of you in years and relished every reprieve,
your voice of absorption and suggestibility can’t remember feeling,
absorbing so much of everything we were no longer able to disbelieve,
allowing the fantasy for quite fun time that significant correlation is waning.
between the strong pendulum of hypnotized susceptibilities is a kangaroo,
imagine hopping around with the two pronged empathy flagellation,
helping lead sad lives like an emotion corporation and mind zoo.
semantic satiation’s become exemplary specimen stratification.
this meaningless life creates an absolutely chaotic feeling,
efficient and productive as a whole ready to blow,
courtesy metaphors with a therapeutic healing,
identify the helpers of obstacles to the goal.
something goes strong with the achievement of troubleized stay,
when the bursting inside began and memories started coming back,
which abandonment do you prefer on this sunny Friday afternoon in May,
filled with fresh and hopeful air there is a price to pay for believing way off track.
hungry gypsy’s desperately exude pride on the corner of every town hall square,
escaping the mantis with the corner of a big black eye from mister fortune,
abandon this life with a laughing and flashing hip swinging hunting stare,
your money’s your life & the vision ends with friends who’ve strewn.
the whims and dreams end just like that with an inoperable brain,
faking best friends and favorite missed funerals fall in silence,
they buried themselves in my psychic cemetery of reign,
don’t open the door we don’t want back your glance.
with a razor-blade ready for anything but nice,
don’t be late the cold blood will not wait,
don’t pray for our souls of wild thrice,
ghosts will always haunt the gate.
Transmogrified from ‘Tea Kettle’ by Kristopher Lichtanski