Fairy Shine

I feel deja vu.

A state of mind, and a religious phenomenon. All is silent and my poor mind speaks. I still try to figure what it says. Eloquence, yes. Love, no. Obscurity, maybe. What else is left? Bleak surreality.

Those of you who bleat money: Perhaps: your green souls are infested with wriggling maggots. Your soft fur coats should be exploited from below. The hierarchy you hypnotize us with must implode. Logical economics, it is. The philosophy of greed.

Do you vomit? Can you smell the puke of truth? My strong calluses mock your Lincoln-ish hypocrisy.

But don't worry. Your paranoia is ungrounded.

Its foundation is built on beach sand.

They disintegrate as our ideas go down slow.