Author: lbstowe

The fashion police are resorting to violence.
The cause is this bright podiatric appliance.

They’re incorrect & accepted now everywhere.
Inside Congress & boardrooms…I have seen them there.

Ubiquitous, though, among our tourist culture.
This offense designed by American vultures.

Originated under the peaks of Boulder.
Then on to international usage blunder.

These are not the shoes in which the erudite walks.
Plastic & socks?…scary as reptilian crocs.

I am not scrap; I am salvage.
Do not pop my hood to ravage.

The family inside; all paid up.
Seats on the engine block to sup.

Lifting that bonnet will be rough.
Scattering mice except one’s scruff.

For, I snatched harder than I meant.
Yet, I don’t harbor mal intent.

Still, those who say, “Just kill them fool”.
I could destruct…but building’s cool.

They’ve the walls & yard; I’ve my home.
We never cross those lines to roam.

Follow T & you’ll be
in a world of total immolation.

Take a look & you’ll see
into your incineration. 

He’ll begin with a din
ostracizing every sovereign nation.

What you’ll see may just be 
annihilation. 

If you’re gonna sing Edelweiss,
simply put on brown & cue it.

All this awful shit, they’ll do it.

Want to burn the world?

There’s nothing to it.

There is no place I know
 to stay hid from all misinformation.

Here or there no one’s free…
Clearly they don’t wanna be.

***

If you wanna be cannibals, 
He would probably let you do it.
Anything you want to screw it.

Blowing up the earth…

One but-ton to it. 

But before all the gore;
We’ll be put in camps of concentration.

Dying there, you’re aware…
you were warned about the fee.

Are you horny; Are you flat?
Does your every landing go Splat!

Your whole life-soggy splashes.
Wet Drag-Queen with those eyelashes.

Maybe you are poisonous?
Beauty liquifies frozenness.

Squat in dark, damp, swamp gases.
Evolved gifts…water-tight asses.

Opaque skin both pink & mint.
Aurum eyelids, bedazzled glint. 

Lashes, gold warts, gilded toes.
Far too pretty, these AI toads.

All this living under a bushel for humility.
Our coat of arms’ luster fading swift from its filigree.

Keep those character flaws & broken laws under your hats.
We greet our guests with all the subtlety of baseball bats.

Smile til it hurts, a polite nod & laugh insincerely.
All cards on the table at once will cost us quite dearly.

Better to ease the new folk in & hope they miss details.
With luck it’ll be your avoidant eyes & carnage trails.

For, you just don’t seem to believe we can clearly see you.
Make mirror eye-contact & see if you see it too.

There was dark, then lights, then fire & smoke from the stage.
Lights down, music starts & mosh pits ramp up the rage.

The drugs & drinks all start to finally kick in.
All stages rock & blend into devilish din.

The lion’s share of patrons on music will coast.
Peace & Community vibe take over for most.

Circle back to the mosh pits & the groovy drum circle.
Clouds are moving in & their sky’s turning purple.

Two polar camps soaked & slick with rain, sweat & mud…
Had a great greasy time; til they hosed down their duds.

Are you glitchy tonight?
Does your screen glow blue bright?
Hieroglyphics coded in error white?

Is your loading screen frozen?
Troubleshooting you’ve chosen.
All you wanted was to get some prose in.

I hear your fan’s spinning purr.
Now, the standby light concurs.
The Pavlov chime & the familiar whirs.

Does your RAM start fast or slow?
Update your O.S. to know.

Do you ponder use of tech we don’t understand.
Do you gaze at code stumped by magic born of bland?

Is your disc scratched once again?
Were you left out in the rain?
Tell me, P.C., are you glitchy tonight?

Meter set to: Are You Lonesome Tonight by Roy Turk & Lou Handman.

Fuck my reputation…I am consistent.
My past assignations…pretty persistent.

I did it before & I may do it again.
I’ll bathe in the miracle of absent sin.

The car wash of souls is pretty big business.
Yet, one has to pay for that kind of ingress.

They sell us all invisible salvation.
Vulnerable need; a priest’s salivation.

I think I’ll stick with healthsome pleasure.
A fucked reputation…product of leisure.

Is what you see the artist’s doing?
Or, are you viewing & imbuing.

“I don’t know much about art” they say.
“I just know what I like & I’ll pay.”

So, we artists toil at this & that.
Avant-guard, bread & butter, Old hat.

We say the same thing several times.
Different…without repetition’s crimes.

Your whole life’s work…you’ll love a quarter.
You’ll think “fair trade”…for love on barter.