Poem For Three Hundred Words (On Writing & Editing)

*This was from one of my days of the September challenge, where I had to write a new thousand words everyday.

Trees leave fragments like broken crystals
Babylonian concrete road, leading to artificial Benbens
Meat suited automatons riding in steel boxes, with balding tires
Kaleidoscopic addiction syndrome, self appointed Psychiatrist
Boiling mass in cratonic sphere, crystalline center of nowhere
where has the burning light been replaced with a stone pillow
Measurer doesn’t measure up
Primordial android, drunk on psychotropics, ranting at the world, while he tears pages out of the Bible.

Prime Time Television Sycophants, wasting away on Grandma’s couch
Human history is a cul-de-sac
The conspiracy ended in Cheetos
Man sold his soul for a chocolate bar
Rusted sex bots are our future, children our are past.
Mars is our future.

Beads of light, running on grass, wielding plastic rakes as weapons.
Subconscious preparation for life.
Hectic beehives called neighborhood, Predators are squared.
Wave of control wash in and out, the self pushes freedom out
Small ways, chalk on the street, bold word “Stop”. No addressee
I’m cultivating a brew of schizophrenia, claimed on the mountains of culture,
inspired by whores and maniacs. Embraced by no one, spectacle to the world,

I have found the cave of the Ubermensch and it is filled with dirty tissues and back copies of Hustler magazine. A box of abandoned toddler’s toys are pushed into a corner, next to empty cans of Budweiser and ash tray refuse.
The wasted poet humps the ground, slurring some pitiable narration about a YA vampire novel,
“She put on the dusty gown. Its beautiful pearl color had turned the yellow of over buttered theater popcorn.”


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