Blooming brighter than the sun,
the war’s been won
beyond the vanquished lot
of world’s long gone.
Swimming in the sea
of vibrant hair dye,
the smell of water pours down
the silt-lined peril,
brined in green lyme.
Pencil, going numb,
within the sum
of vast squishing past
time thoughts prime,
full to the brim
of sights unsigned.
Let us begin,
on the ride past all sin.
The white fright frozen sight
of everything new and open.
Crack open the periwinkle light,
begin to see the freedom of sight.
Slam these words down hard
on this invisible table of shards.
Written and scripted,
with the wit of plaster and spit.
Rhymes come down
to smite the lines
on this blank feral apathy.
Keep scratching on the outskirts,
flirt with the sky.
Up there, where sound is silent,
and music riots across the ear canal,
swathed in fallacies
within this palace of deeds.
Is this true?
Fire and Ice hair
seeps into blank switchboards
of falling power.
Lazy fingers twitch
and skim and scum
up the ground with pounding rhythm.
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