Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I lay myself down
on the roof of the house
staring like a schizoid monk
at the sun til it flinched
like a beaten-beacon of false hope

my victorious gaze set the clouds afire,
this mighty desire to impact my tiny world

suddenly and without malice
volcanic rain peppered my sky
with polka dot dreams of hope
freshly imprinted, no, stamped
in my wet-concrete derma-dream

inducing a new species of life
to sprout in the spider vein cracks
in the bones, blossoming
like alien weeds of imagination
into flowery gardens of romantic idiocy

I think to myself, astrophysicists are paid
too much, we all know 96% of the known universe
is composed of dark matter and dark energy
which the scientists admit they don't have a clue
about, and I come to the conclusion

that if they can humbly own up to their failures
then I will tell them, I am grateful for your ineptitude