Illusion

I drank my heart today just in time to wonder where all the mediocre celebrated solicitors of piety went. Only to be stopped by a Preacher while I spent my time wasting it and asking if I could spare a moment. I showed him how it lay about in shards reflecting the images of deities should anyone care to look close enough. He spoke of mobocracy as an art form and concluded by divinely choking on his tongue. I only wondered why?
When the burlesque dreams of pity and fashion take sides against you, how can you eat? Is there any candy sweet enough to suck on? Any tongue? Your skin is still the metal armor, polished with the words of leather bureaucracy until it shines with the pale light of
Ice

I never struck her but I should have.

These gloves are the beauty you see. Not the hands beneath that painted hard wired portraits. The ones hanging in galleries with little captions of clever irony to make you smile and nod and pretend that for a moment you are content.
Or smart
Or artistic
Or ALIVE

We are product of our own petroleum desideratum, even as we close our eyes to watch the silver tinted slide show projected on the back of our eyelids.
We don’t sleep.
Sleep is an archaic liberty lost when we gave love a definition.
We only watch
Voyeuristic neuroshock cultivation of ones self. It reminds me of when I was a child and the man on the corner showed me the magic.
I gave him my allowance for that magic. Only it wasn’t magic. And the man on the corner was gone.

Illusionist lover…come to me. Here’s the radiogram I promised you in my dream.
Carried on the tip of a bullet.

Skip a Beat
END