Pursuits

pursuits

mundane pursuits

take care of my own

exercise my right

I do not condone

ever all the whispers

sibilant seductive rants

I wonder, wandering the truth

the tumor in my brain

is eating of the whispers

cannot grasp or hold onto me

unflinching impartial perceived reality

when my senses are

continually shaded

ever all the whispers

cloud your speech

you run from truth

faster than fleeing sharks on a beach

media propagate the testimonies

alluring little ghost stories

like the prophets of disco

and evermore the whispers grow

statements of fact, losing tact

befuddled by liquid pictures

the truth is so wack

oil spills on proof

counter-culture retro-virus

whisperers whispering whimsical wishes

wanton fallacies and stone cold kisses

paper mache poetry

truths in the back

and lies out the front

affront full-on frontal fantasy

flickering neon abnormalities

I can take no more

everything is less than before

and ever all the whispers

drowning in all the whys

coming down the walls

from every side

and all so very far

from any real truth

eyes and ears pitched with tar

boiling from the polling booth

I feel soiled by the touches

of #1 and #2

it’s all a bit fucking much

cannot find a way to discern

which is witch or true

disgrace the Americas

and the whispers begin anew

 

 

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