Tony Robbins,B.F Skinner and the Muse
Nighttime, the muse is tangled in the talon of riots.
catching bricks to the head- mace to the eyes-
Come morning, it sips unholy cups of politics
heavily sweetened with the latest deadly virus-
Noontime it wears a brooding- grimacing mask
its very breath under the most vicious attacks-
It's spending more time in its darkened cave
9 mm alpha dreaming of an omega escape-
Now it'll only listen to T. Robbins and B.F Skinner
slowly become a braying-blue ribbon beggar.
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