SHORT (OR LONG) DITTYS - RANGING FAR FROM THE POINT
Bits and Pieces
We’ll shoot for the moon and we’ll shoot for the stars Perhaps we’ll sleep behind jail-house bars...
,,,They hope for their children to dry up their tears, from a lack of “good cheer”, through the subsequent years,,,
America,,, the land of honour is in a truly sad state of affairs- confused and naked it falls down the Stairs
,,,butterfly takes flight and becomes a human, whose flapping wings become the arms of an epileptic freaking in a train,,, The butterfly looks about in confusion, and becomes the foam,
...from bone dry land we can’t survive amongst the fish we come alive...
Ave. C., pulls taught, straining with every sharp, piercing breath. Dark alleys, become the womb for harsh blows, Boom Boom Boom. Quick and in rapid succession.
Momma lay in the road with a vacant stare, her lungs devoid of life-giving air.
Fractional bursts implode as speed super-collides full-stop, splintering off into fractal jags which jives,
,,The child within resides in a private domain; a fabric which resonates below the surface of some adults,,
,,,becomes a spontaneous nightmare of mirrors reflecting mirrors, which collapse upon themselves crashing headlong into the beast ,,,
Mama’s dead,,, the baby’s dyin daddy's so sad cause the world be cryin.
,,,It’s all an accident Sirens careened off my brocken memories Your’s too maybe...
We consume pain and sorrow, through inward looking mirrors at banquette feasts.
,,,and dreams we never dreamed for fear of dreamy scenes that shadow things we can’t control ,,,