Which name these flowers go by,
under which guise of man-made beauty,
is for finer machine-heads than these
fingers typing
into this
note-taking app.
How to expulse this beauty
in electrons,
while remaining relevant to the tedious mindex
(think: roll-a-dex of the intelligencia)
in applicable wordings,
to make the superbly gifted
children of these
times
realize that,... beauty is more than a pricetag
or an employable designation.
When simple poet
(such as am i)
can not even raise one adjective
for
such a fineness;
such a fondness;
without finesse
or any other co-conspiracy
the public & the publishing industry has come
to honor
as worthy of particular accolade, heavy-laden with accomplishments
to entice & incite one the other
to eXplode with the furious abandonment
of right and wrong.
To me,
the birds,
the bees,
the flowers,
the trees,...
Ad infinum,
are creations to,
for mere & unadulterated moments,
pull our minds away from the trivial diversions
twisting our thoughts into the hell of super ego,
where occupy the shattered and scarred remnants
of obscure passages,
through the darkness
of societal existence.
No, Miss So-&-So,
there is no room for love to roam
in such a sterile environment.
Sooner or later
everyone will have to realize,
Frankenstein could have only
been written
by a woman.
pmpope 2013 ©
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment