The Children are dying to be polished in the sun

The techno-bred glassy eyes

Stare down

Into the giant spiritual hole

Internet chaos information gluttony

Virtual souls

Enlightenment set to dim


Falsity enlarges inside the pictures

Of a Hollow

Station in life

Bravado in the sails

A three-day beard on the sand

Bikini peach-body breasts

Tanned blonde smiles

Bulbous pouty lips

Sipping slushy green drinks


The atmosphere is blue pastel

Spiked tongues extend

Like a Rolling Stone

Iron-on patch

Gucci horsebit

Charmed life

There are more pictures

The creme Bentley

Visible in the distance

Near the island gazebo


The hammock rocks

Winding up inquiring eyes

Against delusion’s reach

Opening up the sky

Shaking the trees

Emptying out celebrities

Impersonating simulations

Of celebrities pretending

To love life


Riding sonic waves

Folded up in paper bugles

Screaming falshoods

And tarnished flesh

of overdrawn emotions

Unable to pay the facade


They are just children

Born into an artificial life

With a desire for beauty

Not knowing

The music has collided

With all the available truth


Blurring the gift of existence

into repetitive simulations

Behind this glorious veil

Of banal suburban grief


A fantasy

a dark stagnant pool

Sends its viscous aura

Into all the schools

Along with loss

And a forgotten sense

Of who everyone really is

Out there

Outside the screen

Beyond the keyboard hashtags

And inside the shell

That hides the rusted jewel

Dying to be polished

In the sun