Shore Leafs

Caught walking rotten like a mid-summer zombie along beaches broken by factory splurge. Winter's bitter finger tickles my nostrils, shrinks scrotum hugging nutter butter, better be strolling along into the frigid sunset of the foggy bottom aquarium. Cross-eyed pirates and pitiless piranhas shake the snow globe, hazy mirages line the horizon...just bubbles in my beer song. Mood swings temper minds muddled by modern inconvenience into achieving the anti-nirvana; the last stage of de-evolution. Just whip it out on the town singin', "What's a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this?" The patron saint of taint warbles untruths like a junky spinning fables about their unapparent uncleanliness; just outside the doors of the methadone clinic. Subliminal messages coat my eyelids while my third eye cries out for a psychic squeegee. Cloning the thrones, changelings grip the situation, trading masks and potions for waning authenticity. I cry about these advents and for the exact nature of what confronts the seedlings that snuggle up, nestled in the beauty of their theta dreams.