And Aim

By the blank firing squad we waited as the soldiers loaded brass tacks and high angled themselves in line. Filling the glass lungs stood before that apathetic gaze, full by the noon day's glare. Bitter Orange cast across the metaphors imagery climbing ever higher ; shadows play on the ground beneath our feet finding a dance partner among the gun barrels. All acrawl beneath the skin , cockroaches bury deep of the American flag passed from this British Eagle after liberty w-/ out much royalty to country. English stereotypes spitting on the union jack discuss Page Three monologues & the latest Styrofoam protests. Just say a word and Mean it. Only impressive once the Media took hold in a slow zoom on the Flash Mob mentality breaking out in frustration. At a country riddled w-/ apathy and unrequited eyeball kicks locked in judging show cycles , especially in ink, grasping for the straw to break the camel's back. If only to go over the edge , finally going Mad , always, teetering on the brink . One foot in the gutter & in the other in Flintstone-esque traffic. Now I'm sure no one's written that before . Left right on my mark, Aim &