Leaning Against a Lamppost.

I am staring at the red hand demanding stop
in a mostly silent rushing manner with any
urgent notice for the blind lost in the crushing banter.

And there is white hot anger in me
at the flamboyant capsules borne along to be seen
it is Soylent in essence proudly proclaiming to be green

I am flaring at the steady hand pandering
hot in a most heady hushing stammer.
Myths nay jerkingly, quoting for us
the signed history and sing lush slander.

And there is white hot anger in me
at the clairvoyant ape who is now born
chain-smoking and mean;
it is annoyance in adolescence rowdily
claiming to be clean.

Author's Note

This was written by Ben Lingemann.
Please do not plagiarize, All Rights Reserved.