Aura

A silent Pitchfork, a rubble outside

I am all that i have been, not so well connected

A galactic fusion over the rimmed walls

A paycheck for the month it’s all a plaything

Poetry calls me often in the darkest night

A knowing edge surpassed me

As I went down the rabbit hole

This is the age of new thought protestants

A summer binder over at my glass

I know that butter cup lifelong simulation

Poetic engulfment is rising the aura is new

Of sub divisions and postmodern pranks

The fun we had at the treehouse jingoism

The subversion is all around my wretched watch.