o27

this nondescript wall looms like nothing ever seen
transplanted over an image of wild plantains
soaring atop an ocean of chromatic drifts
where behemoths mount the waves like neo-luddic
metaphors for cylindrical tubes, a phalanx of death
come to rear end these smoldering remains of a
civilization meant to transcend a red petaled ranunculus,
inadequate as a shrunken couch in the lap of luxury.
How do the images not fade along with the
dwindling pace of frenetic thoughts?
They remain, etched upon tortured retinas,
like the lives lost or never realized
unto the sands of Elysium
where only worms are satisfied