There are those that receive a banquet of redundant butterfly chasing dogs,
smacking bubbles in the air, barking fur ball logic, as a gift of the sages.
Others are cursed with a paranoid animated surrealism exploding in a panoramic vision
that supersedes duplicity in fault. None to blame, guilt in all.
Be it the mesmerization of the wall clock’s respondent tick,
the dribble of a leaky faucet into a wine soaked tub,
or the cornucopia salient fondue of the smack talking ballpark jerrymanders,
the rhapsody ends soon enough with plagiarized gusto.
Renegade pantomime forestalls the angry chained brute,
\his demeanor rails putrid squalor drool as the laugh of
ages histories the hillbilly logic of his ancestors.
Even so, the counselor defends his cursed client, though he knows his guilt.
The money trail is only an obfuscation of the recriminations of the sad passerby’s narrow path.
Who marks the time?
An iconic gesture? A amalgam of seething terror guised in derailed trestle.
The door of judgment is always slightly ajar.
\Listen to the voices of children speaking in the tongues wisdom.- Sinz