Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011 Under: Poetry
In the hall of kings
who would've made
far better utility workers
the city grid is a luminescent herd
of dogmatic plankton
roaming the rocky hills of contemplation
by spartan brain bulb infections
coarsing through minotaur valley

Tripoli magma -
like passing bursts of charcoal iguana skin
drab sandpaper, and rainforest green
the midnight blue coats
of lone sentrymen

This is the camoflouge of dying civilization.

What if we were meant to be cloaked men?
Guardians of time's last exotic steppe
the pitch black open seas
of brackish-purple marmalade

bright blue waters of Barbados
crash-colliding with
a grey Los Angeles backwash
in the quietude
of a titanium pill complex

Swallow it..
it's your daily dosage explosion of voltage

afterburn may occur
in the form of ambient wolfpack sprites
plagued by electrical starvation -
but all is well in Okayland

In : Poetry 

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