Stream-of-Consciousness Poetry: Volume I

Beneath the papaya
I wander the sanity.
Beneath the papaya
I gaze skyward

To not is a glorious
transfixturization.
To not is fantastic
and must there remain.

Out from the crowd
bursts a lunatic naked.
The nudity frightens
those who fear progress.

Wading in pools
of a mixture of fluids.
Bodily fluids
of all types and kinds.

Standing in line
for an unknown purpose.
Once we get in
all doubts are erased.

I stand on a highway
between destruction and filth.
A pair of yellow lines
dividing my halves.

Ravage the iniquities
of those called unworthy.
Send them to rot
in coastal ice-fjords.

Return me to sanity
I wish to depart.
Remove me
from this forsaken scape.

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