one of many crests

purest formational apologies

to create, to illicit from the bottom of the swamp, the pit, so silent at the surface but churning beneath, oh, the pithy sway and common stock wait, no, the rumble on until they stumble upon or click at their desk, this generation’s gestation from their beds, all miniature talking heads, give to do it yourself in the attic no more, stench of home and chromozone drenched child sloth stasis of the puttering engines whirring and stop go stop starting in some kind of DIY blind faith, go get her do nothing but stuff yourself into skinnies to defy those bread bearing home boy next door friends of the family, but we never saw them up close, heaven forbid, they’re out in the halls with their balls to the walls and its exhausting to watch but watch we must, we give them our trust as they don shirts and ties, belly up in lies, forgetting the days when they offered true lies in darkened bunkbeds, away from those eyes they dread wiht total familiarity and we screamed that they cant be left in charge because they dont know any better, but neither do we, I hope and pray but it does nothing to fold the newborns into their mangers that we mourn with alarming regularity but do nothing to save, for now their souls go to the one strewn from the plus sign and when it was us we placed our good and everlasting trust in him because he was a man, more man than we’ll ever be and thank higher up for that glitch because then we’d never have any undertone to compare ourselves to on a regular calendar day for years upon decades when we tucked in our collared shirts into leather braided belts and freshly non-pleated boy shorts that pink floyd would be overjoyed at the sight of our knobby knees and crippled self image that the hipsters before us did nothing to rescue in days of summers spent consuming and reveling in the capacity of conciousness thank Xenu for you, oh concious cray, we left on the bray of a sea monster in a ship of chest’s waves, how dare you imagine something better, we can only forgive in this age of faux self awareness for our fingers are tumbling through shoulder satchels as we pedal, fixed and compulsory to be taken seriously as individuals, a title and reward we dont deserve, given because we know waves, hear tones, dance to voices condemned, but we’ve gone silent in obedience and the movements regressed into slithering lech, much like the last and be glory to he that plays heaven for me while we all wait for the next conjuncitve, flow are you proud of me? I’ve accomplished fractures of know knowing the difference and hopping the fence like chains of toughs, wrapped against their bound knuckles and chaps, neverworld be gone because we’re a moment away from post apocalyptismal fountains of weeds and media screams all screaming for hounds to round up the right with the right to do so, never to be so adventageous but to be the voice of a generation that screams and looks up waiting and smiling like a toddler over his first erection bent over a dirty quarter he found in his pocket spent on the gravel and concrete strewn sidewalks of our citysearch, so write a review and dip it into yur search engines as long as we’ve documented those poor fiends, seeking singles in their clusters, for all that pretended to attain awareness in the nineties are marketing the benefits of social networking to tealful fans on MTV newsweek, we cant under demand blind justice.