PMPope

 Piano sonata floats through American French Café As seen from above Floating after the swirling downward spiral Railroaded Insurance Business talks Draining into damaged hopscotchery  Collision with the crescendo of major chords Level 2 and 3 positions are available for early consideration Mother and Daughter teams queing for the Titanium Overload Endurance 500K should begin by building six-pack adjacent learning facilities housing on-site counseling education forums and all-natural organic pharmaceuticals mumbling and faking until you cake it No one OWNS you   unless you'd rather be grandfathered in

Take what status affords you And stuff it Into that Overhead Alligator  Bag

 There is a hashtag for you  song in the Twitter  by the fallen tree  beyond the chain link fence  which is held together  with a piece of plastic  and a guard rail  or spit rail  or a bunch of chairs  in the back  held together  with a rat trap  and a drainage PVC pipe  which flows down  to the green land  i.e. - the weed land  with the constant  drip  drip  drip

We won’t be able to answer every question,  but we can pass it on to our highly trained board

The layers here are more about a shared history  than alarmist rhetoric.  GenX has always been made to bite the bullet 'for the sake' of 'the way it is'.   

 #1  Lord, please send protection against the deceptive fingers  gripping this world  a stranglehold  all surfaces are corrupted  either by chemical castration  or our mutating organic nature  please lift the masking  from the vision of the filters  from the cosmic reality  that is actual  dirt has become a shield  electrons scream  Alien  DNA comes in copyright plastic  wrap murder hornets and exploding populations of ticks  screaming across every nook and cranny  of our buttery goodness quaint Polaroid memories  Mad, mad, mad cow disease  exactly because America is so very awesome  how can a country built  on your name  be systematically racist?  Answer: it can't!  Man can!  There is no good man There is only man Humankind We run The tables We pop pop pop we compete against one another  to our very last breath Every once in a while  one jumps up  with their eye on you The prize But no, not rich No, not famous Introverted and a bit childish,  if anything moderately profound  and T

Not one damn person stands to offer A ride or a fine 'how do you do?' Out on the stretches  Of those long and lonesome  desert highways Young and rangy  Not yet a tattooed canvas And not quite any longer  A multi-colored, spiky haired punk Not that you could tell (from a passing vehicle) Wrapped in an Army Navy store field jacket Black, of course, my leather  with hand painted longhorn skull Long since abandoned to storage Or some ex-girlfriend's domestic care Wouldn't do me any good anyway The heat of crossing a desert alone And on foot equivalent, at least to my urban mindframe, to walking across a lake of glass on fire And inside of a microwave oven I'm going to give y'all  the benefit of the doubt It was the  80s on the cusp of the 90s And maybe you didn't have your internet  set up right, at that time.... So you couldn't see the injustice The complete uncaring, The disregard for your fellow human being Be he (or she) white, black, brown, yellow, ora