i may be lost, somewhere under this rainbow of technicolor stains, drowning in the shallow puddles of tomorrow

spinning in a crocodile death thrash, teeth on my throat as the daily rigors become more authentic than possibility

the sky is clear, the vision muddy, the insanity on display is like that of the drowning, a fish that forgot how to swim

surrounded by unfamiliar surroundings, hollow familiarity, passive ignorance aggressively on display for the hordes

sing a song of six pence, a pocket full of lies, here in this parking g garage, the poor foolish poet lies down and dies