I found myself once caught inside it

the interconnection of prisms

bursting, BLASTING, blotting, burning, brushing

out with their color

I blasted out tinny harmonies of gentle guitar strums

and beautiful poetry

(sold to the gentleman in the hat for less then a million or so)

but hey, who's counting?

I did this to avoid the needless sound

of buzzing and anger

of guilt and guile

of tearing down trees and touring through a formerly closed space

I sat down as leaves made of broken wishes

Were rolled into spicy pints of a wistful lying game

they pretended to hate each other as they argued

blessedly fucking as soon as everyone turned away

Primly reminders that "this will kill you"

Primly reminders that "this will resurrect you"

Heard by the rich cocks and cock-suckers and hens

By both sides of each hemisphere in that dreary drowsy head

So long longing so for that quick fix

I remember hating those garden keepers

They prettied up the garden with

death

dead everywhere

murder, cold, bloody, fucking murder

Ordered from on high by those wealthy enough to decide what beauty was

bone-thin, bright orange and light blonde, corsets squeezing out life and expression

Into tiny spasms of self-doubt

You can go be a prostate with red hair and and tall boots

It doesn't really matter if you can breathe

But thanks for playing