Agent robot ticking out of control; steam erupting from safety port, with eyeballs rolling loopdy loops. Coffee droplets dripping for stronger noses than mine to relocate. Wanna walk right into this marketplace, with pockets unpacked, and declare martial law, myself the monarch. That’s the door, bannana handled, and thievery prank pulled. Security guard’s pursuit, proceeding checker’s dumbfounded gaze, the continuation of the drop. Blood pumping from my heart. Eyes rolling loopdy loops. Self conscious doubts descending obliterated and resurfacing stronger than ever, undulating in the sweat of my pumping legs: Little one I am coming for you; as I said I would never go alone.
Too many eyes around. Magic powers emanating from the pupils, freezing my spirit tighter clad within my skin.
“Let the waves berate you, again and again, until that skin falls off, and you are a walking reworking of yourself.” says the preceptor, slapping the back of his hand against his palm for effect. “Challenge lethargy. Proceed in a spirit of pro-activity. Do it easily and with the proper expression. Anger is happiness, happiness is a tragedy, Pain is bliss. Remember the precepts nature will consistently enforce upon you.”
The fire burns upon his face. His skin is bursting through its grips like ice water from tense glacier. There is room for improvement; but don’t you worry about that sweetheart, just let Daddy Jameson here take care of the tab. He’s got me covered twelve ways till Tuesday. That’s the one, if you’ll remember right, which made the notches in the ladder softer than cottage cheese, so that you can’t help but to slither through satisfaction, like its nothing but dream transparency anyways.
Post modern children living in cubicle gear cogs. What else can they do but question? When the stars above them are the graffiti smog of their thoughts, burning in the sky, deeply revealing, explosive and crisp, within the aperture of distance, they become as the sphincter contracting, expanding around my anally arrested development.
