I don’t trust the Inquistion of saints.The headstrong martyrs bead up on my cracked windshield.
Another hard loss. The victory in the details. Potions that witches craft.
I drive two miles an hour slower when the pope sneezes; something, something the air forms ripples around my radio.
I can see their lost. The vacuums that hide dust. We are so used to hiding behind distractions.
Web 2.0 is a dying breed, everyone touches glass. I can see how lost I got. So twisted up on the roots, forgetting to look for finches in iron. The drizzle continues to bead, babble. Brook. I look for a reason to agree, but I’m too well equipped at annoying the ones who dislike me.
I can see it their iris, the dilation cannot hide from the light. Causality.
Truth is unlike trust, even though the former breaks, the latter breaks too.
The flat earthers
The titanic folks
Goldman, oil man, breaker of teeth-
The pinkerton’s still laugh at those porous beads of rain water. Each drop, another
signal that time left behind the creators of decently created mechanics.
Even IBM corrupted their drinking water. Men wearing hats to the mall, war mongering in places of education. History rewrote itself!
It was a grand scheme, we didn’t want to know. And all those children that grew up with light in their eyes, fell victims to it.
Ideology loses when you realize how many people live on the planet. Bugs creep out of the light. The smallest shadow dissapears in the blink of the eye. We always forget about the Maddox incident.
A child tripping over a stone.
The grass is littered with them. Moth nets catching bears. The fish immune to the pressure of the ocean, wild beliefs. Each light bulb is red and green. Sifting through soft dreams the diarrhea only goes upstream.