Tuesday, 27 December 2011

The Honest Man in Modern seas of Anachronism.

Diogenes screams rhapsodies, shirtless
semblances of identity
from where ancient chicken vertebrate dream
of ancient lamp, burn honest language, rapidly.
Static apokatastasis sways,
shallow breath beneath low tide
where moon aligns with eye.
Chest expand, Sun-thetic pop hieroglyph, reside,
defunct soul drowned
by lack of I Ching interest.
Shadows of celestial condiments collide
with collective unconsciousness,
Egyptian motif sits restlessly
summoning surrogate remedies,
for a thousand centuries, manifest me.
All minds reopen at midday
when city swells
and objects dwell in shadows at their most confused.
We should have pilgrimaged to our infancy
reading our souls for dessert in Americana Chinese dynasties
and denouncing all prophets posthumously,
using sturdy virtues,
of plastic fork ubiquity.

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