August 31, 2014
I. Planned neighborhood.
Miniscule cells built by the Governor
rely on anaphased babies caring for accident children.
Pockets of incredibly unique DNA are stacked beside each other in halls of loss,
plasma membranes selectively engulf their indefinite victims.
II. Perfection for sale.
Dreams are sold at discount prices during the halftime show –
nine ninety nine, ninety nine, but never a complete ten.
Meek walls go routinely tolerated in exchange for
amusing pixels and twenty milligrams of hope.
III. Roaming universe.
Utter sameness wherever the sentence:
inner peace, as with inner hell,
has tirelessly defended
its independence from geolocation.