The engraving felt Celtic
as we swam past on credit;
rowing down the river Derrick
with a drifting sense of ethics.

The rage was ravenous and hectic
we were scraps of freeze-dried lettuce
lapped up by the medic,
swaying in time with the metrics.

Our hair was half netted
as the petals all petted;
like some relic, or skeptic
laying at the bottom of the septic.

All the aesthetics
of being angelic
were mostly inauthentic, cosmetic/domestic,
while the best of us remained so vibrant, so electric.

It's quite generic, these genetics.
Oh, what hysterics, and how majestic;
this pandemic
of regretted synthetics.

This vendetta's psychedelic.
Quite esoteric, this systemic pathogenic.
While all the inhalable carcinogenics
make us dream in double,like schizophrenics.

01/26/2017