THE ECHO OF TIME

Survivalist account of curtailed distinctions,
rippling in your omission should you accept it,
bonding missions in possible apropos pluralist convolution.
Egregious madness born in stories vent taunt and advent venture.
Countervalent awe, struck the ground with a staff and water sprung,
echo of dominance the violence against an imagination.
Sheep leading the slaughter,
wolves in wolves clothing.
Men of the cloth,
women and the other sex,
lost under the bureaucracy of a nearly obliterant terraformed counterculture,
ebbing into Millennial inconstancy.
Mendacity of tyranny ebbing in mythography and open wound science,
pouring in doubting Thomas iodine stares.
Curtailing wit of abject eternities,
under the decorum of faith over their unwanted epicrisies.
God of nature...a bucolic omnipotence, and other Rustic rhetoric,
epi-pen-sword, nuclear-stage-four cancer-atom-smasher,
Wine's distinct surveillance lurking in nausea,
ad nausea,
in constant inconstancy, opening hearts within a witless necessity,
counterculture nuanced by Oblissidian discomfiture.
Crown of downtown upscale midsection utopia, sidestep laughtrack lobotomy scars.
Harpsichord of neon abstrusive nickelodeon spinal tap,
upchuck quantum neat filled with canonical icepick words,
slivers of chiseled temptations etched in neon chameleonesque epicenters,
drawn in the suppression of solipsistic consternation,
somewhere under the neutron star,
light as a feather...
weighed against ancient hearts.
Off in the distance the harpsichord gathers in a frenzy,
epiculture of your glossy mandate,
harmonizing the wisps of whispers,
into the attunement of atonement.
Time, fermenting in the oak's leaves,
and the acorn's yearning,
for want of needful remorse,
struck terror in a legato libretto smile, in the dreaming nightmare of hope,
somewhere beyond the ripples of rhyme,
where we lay our scene,
near the remnants of soon,
once again near,
the echo of time.
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