Making the Mojaves the Most Memorable

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, April 23, 2012 Under: Rhymed Verses
The Mars residers marched from light and made the darkness liable
They prophesized a tomb - psychologists could not prescribe the fools
Dreams split in the crosshairs of a lens: scavengers would part the vines in two
A scab in the Nazca Lines that drew a camel‘s blood, caramelized in hues
Stars provide the tools, gazing through this sprawling, dry lagoon
Mirage ignites at highest noon - Molotov peroxide lies in pools
The art of rhyme’s my fuel so I just let the sun’s oils cauterize my wounds
Pearly blueberry marble-white canoes coast a Monte Carlo sky that’s bruised..
Stranded, the sheer force of heat waves scorching the smoldered chrome
Like Mordor, a morbid marketplace, home of gnome imposed overtones
A Tolkien stove decomposed and melting dead stone into Kevorkian provolone
You walk the same roads eroded during eras when no roses grow
Soldiers of fortune roamed - death valleys bleed tortured orchards of molten bone
horizons lined with disproportionate sulfur thrones - it’s unfortunate, don’t you know?
Back when earth’s scent was just a primitive oat cologne, good sources of protozoan
Stash your polar clothes, cause when backpacking in the Sahara - the desert is real
Cruising through the seas of the Bahamas - an underwater desert’s concealed
Remember the sediment peels, die of thirst - don’t feel like you got any less of a deal
Out here the water is brown beer in this immeasurably desolate guild
First impressions have you tremble in fear in the wake of lessons revered
Atmospheres boast a Mesoamerican teal that resembles the skin crest of an eel
The wind calls your name, human who braves the elements - impressed with it’s ilk
Go by your government name - have your last words read ‘Recession was here!’
Tribes covered in dust rising from the shrubs
The pyramids of Giza - the true diamonds in the rough?
I’m getting tired of this stuff, dragging legs for miles under Dresden clouds
Can’t tell if this is hell’s winter or heaven’s drought so I take some seconds out
To call on your families, the Qu’ran abandoned me, banned from the tan regime
It had strict guidelines:
“No footsteps on a sandy beach will suffice until your crawling on your hands and knees”
I crawled, I trudged, sovereign with myself, face covered in obelisks of welts
I struggled through the mud and the thicket but found no liquid at the bottom of the well
Paralyzed by dehydration, eyes burnt, I moaned from the insurmountable pain
Looked up from the hole underground, and then it started to rain…

…but it was acid rain, and I died within minutes. Fuckkkk...


In : Rhymed Verses 

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