Concrete Avenue

The blinds stay open as my brain remains distant
A bare picket fence needs Tom Sawyers penchant
The endless possibilities illuminated on around the concrete avenue

I wander over the bakery merely to check to see if the cake is finished
I sit and watch as the the dough remains dough unblemished
The frosting persuades for sweeter taiste opposite the concrete avenue

A bear on a unicycle performs in the plaza and barley astounds
The bull is slaughtered in goo to entertain the crowd
A parrot repeats banality in a amplified confusion in the clouds above the concrete avenue

The reinforced structures repulse the dark side of the eyeball
Their efficient beauty is tainted by a tint of childhood abhorrence
The evolved understand its Majesty but are disgusted by the floating gray of the concrete avenue

The wisdom of tarot cards is all that I require
I occasionally stake my claim of independence under the revolving second cup
I refuse to return to the cryptic ambiance of the concrete avenue

The rainbow colored traffic lights show a sexy discriminating truth
The flags wave a healthy hue above as us sinners kneel in our pews
I believe I understand that the riddler slowly disintegrates in the concrete avenue

I need my hand to be free of a shinny external grip
I reject the alleged soothing comfort that the kings permit
I will dot my first sentence with my own exclamation mark if I am to venture in the concrete avenue!

Identical Splendor

I am trapped in an invisible fence composed of identical houses
All I hear is the continual rediscovering of obvious beauty
Lawns of lush green grass that the children are forbidden from
Dolled up mail boxes covered in illuminating flowers distract from the unseen ugliness oceans away
Cars with endless curves and easy music blasts the ideas of progress away
There is infinite uncharted wisdom to explore up and down and inside and out
But we remain frightened Bond girls with the walls caving in on the right and left
Though we can blend invisibly through it with our shadowy eyes and pulsating muscles
Simply illuminating our cherished ideals of gold, white, flat, hard, and rainbowed color
Cheaply stylized beer and drugs pollinated in pyrite is the obvious escape of the lazily disenchanted
The Apathetic Middle must challenge the Extremes with Ideas and action and not channel turning to escape the invisible fence.

Can we persuade a change of such agreed upon beauty

enough disenchanted quitters

If all we do is plow the land
Then we are like every other grain of sand

If we live our life free of bind
Then we shall never plow our mind

An in between compromise
Shall reverse our demise

1 million out of three billion separate
It is because they don’t participate

We need more to be ostracized
So our ideas stop being freely plagiarized

There is no need to search when life is splendid
There is a need when life is blended

If you mind dwells on negative nostalgia
Then current memories will transform in to positive nostalgia

But don’t be angry, annoyed or bitter
The world has enough disenchanted quitters

space between the thoughts

hope is a grave of infinite space
the world of tomorrow is all of life
today is all we care about yesterday
but what about the tomorrow after our death

a segment will never see advancement
walls go up around the animals
but we have gadgetry to postpone

then space just collapses
it was short and over
it didn't have to be this way if we just reflected on everything but ourself's

A view from a cube

A view from a cube

I have the talent of a caged parrot
But I control where the cage sits
I erase my own emotions
I soak up the emotions of the revered
The greats depress with a lust for air
An invincible cage that spurns incessant rage
I call upon the wisdom of my own copied incarnations
The world is such that truth is covered so remains darkly tangible

Its all been done and just keeps being ignored
The soaking up of bottles of pretend
The world of advancement takes two steps back for every artificial step forward
Block on top of block to the top of a pyramid on the deserted moon
The blocks are there on Neptune, but our hidden around the noxious empty gases
To be great today is to simply emulate the nostalgia of yesterday and color it pink
I do not cry I just whimper to myself in public
Its not fair that the past can’t reincarnate through my own originality
Is a random sample of sapiens bound to impress each other while disappointing Nietzsche
Am I bound to annoy the world or annoy myself
Should I just accept the old old and not the new old
Digitized complexity is too simplistic for the levers of the past
I type and pretend that agitation and emulation is a cure
I remain in this cube I constructed from in between realities
We can all be artists if we construct our own invincible cage