Antiseptic Sights
Trying to manipulate
every which way to Sunday
enjoying a card house of lies
that was constructed
waiting for another hurricane
to destroy it to the ground
drop the matches
have a bonfire
grinding ashes beneath dancing soles
watching gray clouds
blowing dust down the street
here comes the sun
burning in all its glory
wiping the slate clean
ignoring dire warnings
what could this mean?
there is an unchanging spot
reaching time,
bleaching with invisible fingers
peeling back years of grime
leaden paint, faded colors quaint
broken thermometer
liquid mercury lapping,
a toxic river flow
dare to bathe
in a blatant afterglow
reflected in far away eyes
recording mushrooms on the rise
it is just the television
showing tunnel vision
such antiseptic sights
to wallow away the night
mathiasthom
written 9/13/09
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