Machine of Sensibility

An inability to discover the intelligence within perfected ignorance,

To everything that hovers"by chance"upon the alacrity

Of our ambition acted upon in the earnest realms of reality.

But the bonds that encircle; sever, tear, and corrupt the certainty

That the truth of pain is to enable prosperity. Unable to see reason

Blindly we drive ahead, full wind, looking beyond the walls,

That pass swiftly by, when we realize everything has shifted,

To somewhere you can no longer reach, no longer imagine.

 

Closed in you become, in the sticky sloppy bars of the cages time has laced

Through your prism of the sight underneath what is actually seen.

All that is not, comes to haunt and hinder the path that is stricken,

With carnage ridden bodies, torn from the road and ripped upon the

Bare candied floors that become strewn with blood. The color blue

Ignites no heat, but all comes to a halt in the midst of the breath

That arises from the clear pooling waters, cascading within this image

Of nowhere and somewhere; beyond what is recognition of existence

And the conception of the fact that what we perceive to be our time

Comes only to be what we must spend upon the road.

 

We may be torn, and shredded by this unrelenting beast; it is only

The loss of our forward motion that can serve to sever the bars

Go before the waters and become immersed in the ability to see

Clearly through the crystalline droplets that purify the blinders from

The windows to our world around, that has forever been clouded,

By the impassibility of times erosion, upon our natural connection to

The life of the Earth, instead of the power of the ultimate Machine.

Reviews

[EMF]

Lady, you just blew the back of my head off with a diamond bullet. And damned if I didn't love it. So many ideas bouncing around, like an epileptic pinball machine, I'm going to have to come back here several times to get it all straight. Good, because it's bloody wonderful