A Frustrated Limn

There is simply no way to stop the bleeding.

False gods and mentally maimed fakers

contribute to this hemorrhage

snowballs of invective and dutiful intellectual exercise

give unto the avalanche of voluminous crock

there isn’t one single thing

but many of confused focused drivel

and lost orphaned babies crying in the wilderness.

Can the queen of undying affection

repair this dyke before it explodes

with crashing waterfalls of hoarse voice boxes?

In pessimistic wonder I stare at the ocean

and think not.

So I take up my back pack

and begin with earnest intent

to traverse this mountain crest

and find the end of this, the end

of our bleeding,

But I fear there is simply no way.

 

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