Mar. 14, 2018


Originally Written: April 3rd, 2015 4:22am

We are raised under false pretenses.

From our foundations,
we are riddled with

       preached optimism:
(don't fret over closed doors, for the curtains are on hooks and we can push them aside the frame;
apple pie cools
on the sill of a screenless window).

A polyphonic resonance of good vibrations,
as naivety roars-
reverb of laughter oblivious to what type of happy is indicative of late afternoon hours.

Often times, I am permitted to return to the meadow.

Hopscotching through shapeshifters,
       matter is as matter is.
It's the energy that cannot be created or destroyed...
   merely transferred:
a platform paradox with a simple solution.

Here is where you're supposed to connect, but rush hour train traffic rerouted planned pretenses.

A meander unprecedented-
mindlessly unwinding back to the heartland.
A butterknife ventilation twisted onto a previously pickle jar lid
lightning bugs trapped romantically within,
shimmering subtly at sunset;
lilac scented push pop Yankee Candles.
The planescape of simplicity lies within.

We're raised under false pretenses;
       fragile in foundation,
they shatter swiftly.
Barefoot on old circus grounds,
hallucination guidance to the bioluminescence--
The. BAY.

You'll get there eventually once you sweep up the shards of virtues mystifying.
Save the parts worth repurposing.
Resalvage your soul.
Dance through the wall, 
clearly opaque intoxication:
swift skill for wet grass and distant echoes of hedonism.

The overpass pauses; 
       Roman numeral two.
We watch the Hotwheels transcend topography.
Sarasota spills into the airport Shell, 
signifying a seedy welcome into Bradenton.

ACE, that rave lit empty set.
       Play in the northern grass
attesting to the hypocrisy of ecstatic wonder.
Sass the administrative expenses, natural Florida vegetation preserved--
except around the novel investments.

Bayshore drive, 
we pedestrian perpendicularly.
promenade onto just being a person,
        pitstops of hydration upon tree swings.

A mansion stands before us,
an obscured view discounted ticket.
The final moment where all routes will lead us to the same outcome.

We are raised under false pretenses,
that weather away under the elements.
It's our judgement call, eventually, to be delusional in instant gratification 
      or defiant in our existential narcissism.
Here's the out, take your out--

polarized, you have numbed to 
six months of willful suspension,
the jawbridge designated the differentiation.
The flip of a year turningaround behavior, pussyfooting around some feigned bullshit. 
Coping mechanism for boredom, manipulation crafted at its finest.

Often, though, I am permitted to return to the meadow

Slam the front  door on the present,
I'm already en route to the basement.
     An easy out 
through the cellar door, swinging mahogany liberation.
Lightshed striding away from an endless train underwater trapped within the same cycle of daily routine.

Taking advantage of the sudden reroute, we are raised under false pretenses.
Instilled within the bloodstream,
    heart skipping a Midwestern charmed beat-
raw in garage noise rock,
climbing the fire escape out of the inferno.

Damned to a new river,
Hudson currents pulling me home.