Coup d´ etat, demilitarized our ideation and
set a foreclosure. Raising premiums to subside
the frustrations.

Continuous ingestion of the caged antibiotics,
blood forever stained around lips.

Being the good little-
Patients/Consumers
that we're born to be.

Children scream from within the hallways
that contain them. The receipts of rebellion
resemble wet leaves over the mouths of our forefathers.

Waiting to catch a breath of artistic identity-
one that will parallel the dregs of my thesis.

An opaque room, circular with night lights that
project iridescent shapes of "smart" bombs
and popularity.

Suffocating on the pennant that cultivated us-

It's alright. The hairs raise on my neck. It's alright-I think it will be al…

I find summations of the footsteps of Escher's
architecture, while waiting patiently in the shadows.

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