Neptune Bilgewater

This is known as the leap before the windmill, wherein dusty tunes and warbled rhymes skitter prettily from virgin throats ululating, crashing towards the grassy knoll. Never enough, yet barely inching towards the satisfaction of fulfilled lust. Crescent pills and half-moon powders line flushed nostrils while rheumy eyes weep nectar. That playground love shuttles bullets belatedly into cocooned brains lacks the surprise of the first shattered hymen.

This is known as war in place of truth, wherein battered shields and shattered city spirits illuminate the glossy intentions of labor-backed class infiltrators. Smeared berry face-paint marks tribal mask unities and loyalties to local chiefs, particularly the likes of Gompers, JP, and burly Tweed. This just in: journeymen and artisans revolt against the government, driven by poor nourishment and a feeling of civil abandonment. Headlines spread like buttered jam on toast too thin to swallow without gin.

This is known as stage left, wherein the only possible exit is a body-bag and hastily scribbled directions in Latin. Past the juicing of our efforts and the usefulness of our faith, Christ the magician followed the demarcation exeunt with a mummer's fervor. Shuffle off to Nicaraguan soil, embroiled in the corruption of Reagan-time Rocky smacks and Old Glory-emblazoned shorts stitched into being by brown skins.

This is known as parallelism, wherein silken sheeted shadow shows depict political misdealing and heavy-handed jingoism under the guise of fatuous animation. Stark corruption careens into the annals of comedy when bellowed from within the patina-pocked throats of crooning robots. Who can operate under the standard human rights act when the black-lacquered lingerie catalog creeps into congressional paws and beckons howls toward the blood-curdled moon?

This is known as banality, wherein we stomp from street-corner to peddle-station with able-bodied citizens pelting rations of amphetamines along the divine portcullis. Jesus be thy name but we bend the knee so quickly upon hearing the ring and clink of opaline studded coffining. Arms crossed in salutation to the Tower of Babel, wind-swept culture death defines the albums and provisions of military decisions.

This is known as inbred assurance, wherein purity remains color-free and minorities descend readily into infighting in the face of white-bred pejoratives. The N word is only a weapon in their hands, yet the claws of brethren mark cheeks once kissed warmly. Simple sentences and collegiate imperatives, declaratives, and sweepingly vacuous details of impoverishment shown through this Jacob Riis lens haunt my dreams in steadfastness.

This is known as wormwood's clause, wherein brittle bits of mettle-tested kindred spirits are mended through the commercially acclaimed healing effects of screw-tape. Each chunk of text reprints itself endlessly, a merciless, inexorable gratification committee patched up merely to regulate and up the intake of tax payer greenbacks.

This is known as finality, wherein the charred remains of scripture and elusive, alliterative allusions to confusing fusions of prime-time literature and midway mangled mass-produced mainstream television are sewn as one to better transition to the last period of punctuation, a penultimate hope that the assuaged mind reaches catharsis and a sense of enlightenment at having formally met the ending scrawl.