Thursday, March 3, 2011

Fake Ideas

Gone are the plastic bonds
Wrapped around arms and face
Transparent as the lips respond
Constricted above the waist

Silver-white lines track the expression
Cold fear precipitated on the surface
Moisture traces each depression
Escaping, flying to something worthless

Freedom

Is the last high

The restriction from a translucent truth
The place where immortal flowers lie
The place where green life is in the proof

Synthetic prisons rise and fall
Like the patterns of the ending seasons
The plastics crunch and crawl

The organic cover of the future,
Madness, and of reason

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