I am the man who invented the sunglasses, so well crafted, I am the one who discontinued the atlas after the continents dispensed. The earth shivered with disgustful lust and decided to never spin again so grim. Traveling through shattered darkness, unraveling the day I pray underneath this zenith of constellations, I am breaking patience with my hammer of hope, floating over light posts, exposing the explosion in the ocean. An ingredient causing a superstitious potion more potent than roses posing as flowers positioned in a vase soaked in kerosene. Light this candle in this cancer fire blazing room with orange and red petals, dancing, racing, melting lotions silken your skin within where a pulse curses the worst shore. Mercy pours on the pages with ink filled fire hoses invading the space in your hard drive. The mirror in my mind is unable to find the steering wheel to escape this tormented stage, peering into an empty audience is all the rage, but I keep driving hoping the defected alignment will fulfill an indirect assignment, writing the designated driver on the page, so I don’t die alone near a screaming phone that raises a temporary phase that runs on hot water. Detecting the spotted faucets, the evidence of frailty through an animated existence of sin and sentiment I face, an experiment through test tubes, files piled high to the sky, bent chemicals awake by the Bunsen burner, warning the people who abandon peace and strive towards the spontaneous shadows that allow a more exercising and less structured environment. Complaining it’s raining or dying from heat, thank God for technology, and allowing us to play his role, cloning one another, ignoring his dreaming thunder, taking his commandments and words with additives and color dye cutting them up in a blender, serving all the followers in crystal glasses, scattering the masses of solvent inside leather covers where you sleep on a feathered-mattress, and underneath the pillow saps seeps down the tethered branches of the weeping willow, wondering why satellites in Saturn form radioactive patterns that sense the dinosaurs DNA. First CPR, now just give death an injection connecting heaven to a syringe, surreal to conceal the fictitious holy word naïve to hope, science shining violence like 3-dimensional televisions, judges now make decisions, who’s words ascend the battlefields on our jewelry clocks, watching the sky waiting for it to collide with another celibate cell that fell away from it’s celestial universe, the verses are running out, the sun is coming out inspecting the curse of the abandoned suburban isolated church, the installation in the walls and ceiling are weak, peeling and ready to break, shaking, I’m faking my death, clouds flaking in the west, plate tectonics clanking, the world is raking the leaves making our hearts race, taking our blood, wake up everyone, the earth is quaking; Get your sunglasses now before they sell out.