My Imaginarium

Mutant Filter

Thick black, spilled corrugated tubing along textured red- wires and bone fragment like hair and follicle. The human flesh shield devastation- buy bonds, for this is our enemy- spoken and accounted for. Wailing siren sits on top of the beat heard after the slit. The abstract circus, the pain felt as I descend into darkening madness. The chair I can’t sit on, the shadow shape of dead trees. The mass wealth and output. The crate drain in my mind, the soul piercing whispering. Untitled abstractions with immaculate concepts. The conception, the pain, the stretch, the life made to make other lives. Dull beat. The mutant representation of sound. Analyzing, I beheld the conjoined image of a reaching black arm tattooed in white scripture, enter my filter. The women at the gate protects my fountain and is dressed in rags- Visions of the future Kings sitting on the upturned thumbs of their Queens. Measure the pit and capture the smoke in a jade bottle. Almighty comes and sets up its kingdom, and neon masks are in the caves surrounding them. The tribal convulsive dance burns the stone and echoes their scream of mutual frustration. Blood knuckled. Fake shield. Buzz. Collapse. Repeat.