A Shared Synapse
Kindred in bound twine,
inseparably free by fiber,
torn by the heat from dual flames.
Chase and kick outward,
indiscriminately,
spiral—undone.
Bystanders are able to face blame,
even though disconnected from incident.
A Bastard those still may be,
if the case is taken up for them
like it wasn’t for our sake.
A landfill of waste,
a place where grace spoils
under a soil of turmoils thickened
by crude oils.
The semi-conductor to
man’s moral coil.
Unchanged by full or semi-sweet molasses mixtures.
Only taken on tour
and touch torch to name,
shining in a spanking light.
Change.
Limos stretch far past
The Vanishing Point.
Ethereal Limbo.
There, in decomposition,
In their lair.
Laughing down at the idea of fact,
which he protests to thee,
threatening its way
past thy door threshold.
With sand kicked up,
irritating the corneal scale
embedding deep within fine carpets
oriental pattern's detail.
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