testing, 01, 10, 11

a terribly electricity, fire starter static lines
don't touch the walls, they've gone haywire
strands of current move with a blue passion
entering into and out of veins coursing with empty
whatever switch turned on the chaos disseminated
bits of plastic metal coagulate and disperse
caught between reality and digital output
you have to swim in it all or drown

gushing sweetly, a little girl's parade on stilts
fabrics, sugar, softness, delicacy and luxury
so hard to grab onto these transient daydreams
walls subdue and sterilize her fantasies
the only way out is through a hole in the sky
where down is up and up is a skyscraper
golden ladder hair draped out of a window
the only escape in the clutches of modernity

little legs won't glue together unified
they scramble, stagger, and scamper so fast
into the woods away from the gray structures
submerged in green scents and secrets of old
disappearing into nature instead of nurture
the world won't get its hands on her today
there are still so many that would gladly flee
breaking themselves from the clutches of modernity

it is not my intent to make sense or to write as well as humanly possible for i only write what comes crawling into ears and behind eyes that read words written on some internal chalkboard that won't be erased unless the language perceived can be put into some other form that makes it accessible not necessarily to the handicapped but some form of mentally incapacitated person as sense doesn’t live here or much logic or cohesion but these words grow little legs and line up next to each other in their own patterns of madness anyways and rearrange themselves as they deem appropriate while i just try to keep pace with my fingers in furious motion

what you've got to realize, you see,
is this isn't logic.
most of this is pure gibberish
don't say i didn't warn you

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