With all this glitter and styrofoam in our ears we consent to our chastity belts and watch ourselves pass by on the street.
but most are always able to find their key in the midst of this glistening styrene blizzard.
however, it's those that pick the lock with recycled credit cards who are able to finally climb the ladders above the caged animals. Then discovery shows that the stuffing in our mattresses has been hiding the peas under our beds.
and as they gaze down from the tall stacks of herbivorous fluff they realize that they themselves are not looking into a cage but looking out. look for credit cards they will.
it's the completion of the cycle that we all face. A syncopation of rolling down hills. No one's ever found putty strong enough to isolate our mind above the unknown.
like cats in a cradle and the holes are too big.
Fat CEOs chisel holes in the ground while the oracles slip through the cracks. Their hair blossoms into the grass we tread on.
when we mow our lawns with our babies on our backs we sing folk songs and crunch numbers. All the calculators in the world have a sticky 6 button and all the CDs in the world have a scratch.
When we ourselves stand like ostriches with our heads in the sand we see up close the soil and grass. We realize trash bags wouldn't be roofs wouldn't be roofs without leaks in them and stop lights wouldn't be stop lights without waiting.
if lights were to stop, we would have nothing to do but wait. wait tables, wait rooms, wait the obese. we all have sand in our hair, and grass stains from all the waiting.
indeed, it's true, we tattoo the grass stains into our elbows and we callous our feet. Yet still our guns are stay stitched in our backs. Our volumetric flasks never reach close to overflow.
INTERFERENCE: *please excuse "trash bags wouldn't be" from my prior back and forth. Apparently my spacings didn't back up far enough. :RESUME
As our coffee mugs begin reach capacity, we place our gummy worm lips on the rim and sip, crackling noises fill the air and we are full. the blank drips down our chins and stains our lapels.
We are frank about the moles on our toes and our 6th and 7th fingers but no one seems to realize that flaws in wool knit sweaters and crocheted scarves are unnoticeable. Easily overlooked yet crucial to the art.
We notice that the rug needs vacuuming and the cat needs petting because our big toe would like a crumb-less walk and our 6th and 7th fingers need their calisthenics, but there is no time to do the chores. on the way, we tripped over a snagged knit.