Going Somewhere

Rewinding the oysters to their full shells like so many of the other pearls stolen from their homes, bourgeoisie ladies screaming murder in their satin saturday dressing gowns "We've been looted! We've lost the capacity for revival!" Material and commerce the birds sit on the porches of esteemed vagabonded corporate swindlers and lend their comfort and grace bidding a good tithe as innocuous as the feathers they float upon and fragile homemade houses, nests and nuts, worms, and the other earthly beetles that crunch between the thumb and the index of a young strapping encyclopedia bound neatly makes its way back to the forest of an aging ladybug with her manfriend who died right above the "Horseshoe" definition on the bottom half of the page, the small brown smudge of insect entrails will always entail the second half of an intellectual pursuing the definitions of what makes them so comfortable or maybe popular culture does have something up its sleeveless shirts and all the hyper-caffeinated moral standards we set will bring us closer to a remedy that doesn't stop the pulse, but will make the pain irreducible or at least cosmetically appealing especially for the younger girls, you know how self conscious a female can get when they have their motherhood and their friends and their deepening kit of reflective make up, a clown like sensibility of color and presence a subdued sense of fashion or confidence for that matter and beauty that is bright and sold, complemented and corrected with more rouge on the cheeks and a little less character at least on the edges of the eyes, i can see the young ones now, complaining of the weight their lids have to bear the world is already more than 16 pounds per square inch and now this, its smudging deep into my personality and i can't wink anymore for the boys its for the sake of nature but we have to think about it so i guess that makes it less authentic but nobody seems to give a shit about that today or tomorrow or even yesterday when there was peace and the globe was still glassy fresh with the snow fabricated by commercial santa's right don't stop don't stop i need you here so that i can get better and fall asleep and pretend the dream i had was really just how i was born and this is something that they cook on television right? this is not my life a poor quality show i thought i should have deserved more color than this.