Black and white.

Pleasure and plight.

Once an angel

always a demon.

Forever choosing

the two-faced moon.

Night and day.

The endless dance

that changes in every way.

One way or another

you’d have to choose your tune.

You can’t save

unless you can destroy.

Life gets better once it gets worse.

As life breathes death

it brings a beginning to an end.

The buzzing sound of machine guns trail

the dust from the setting sun.

The dancing tunes of wails engrave

into plastic thoughts

forever in disarray to the music of time.

The blazing fire burns

in the backdrop of the morning dew.

Emblazoned on the songs of the birds of prey.

The ringing sirens trip the light fantastic

to the assonant melody of the wild card.

The orchestra of truth and lies sound off to the beat of the wild card.

From the rising sun in the east to

the tumbling darkness of setting to the west.

The music lives on in rhythmic jive

the blues of despair

the soliloquy of death

all in line, the standstill of time.

The great composer watches the world burn

as the wild card orchestrates.

The music settles and fades into black…

The dust ensconced on the gray streets.

The sound of sirens are replaced by wails of newborn babies.

Death brings forth new life.

The world spins madly on  to the harmony of the wild card.

Molecules bouncing off walls

to the sound of words

echoing through the amplitude of sound.

Drops of sweat fills the penumbra of the heavy air.

Boom-boom-boom

bouncing off the wall

molecule after molecule dancing to the sound

of thoughts traveling through divergent frequencies.

Change the tune, change the view.

Stay awake, live the dream

the amplitude of sound.

A pastiche of notes and verses

surrounded by euphonic molecules

forming a volatile atom.

Dancing to the seeing sounds.

Boom-boom-boom

the bass drops, and the hook pops.

Blue-red, white-black waves cutting a rug

to the cacophony of molecules.

The amplitude of sound.

The music thumps in the cosmos.

The beats dance into the blackness of the galaxy.

Effusing the dance floor universe molecules with life.

The bass drops, the hook pops.

The dance floor floods with muzak.

The music blares into the twilight.

Boog-boog-boog-boog-boog.

The D.J. takes a track from Clotho,

a remix from Lachesis.

Mixing and matching to create Atropos.

The song of the night.

The dancers groove into the dawn of day.

Sweat dripping to the dance of ethereal dreams.

The music slowly fades,

as Thanatos takes the floor and busts a groove,

the dance floor dissolves into the black of the universe.

Sound waves leaving remnants of a sieving  reality

Courtney Pine playing all that Jazz.

Keeping in tune to the muzak of time.

Dancing, keeping in step with three left feet.

The endless samba of two numb bodies.

The effervescent waves of corporeal sugary substance

melting into the mix of hot chocolate.

A taste of authenticity.

That smooths down the throat, that sticks in the head,

that verifies amplitude.

The fantasmic orgasm of subsistence.

The rain of black water.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter.

The solid sublime ice-cube drifting through a vast ocean.

The amplitude phenomenon.

Blaring thoroughly around perceptibility

shattering it with its hand-grenade.

The ejaculation of a substantiated Atlantis.

Seeking actuality in waves.

The amplitude of sound.

The heavy downpour of an ecstatic  nightfall

slowly drizzles down the pink sky.

Howls of effervescent laughter fills the gaps

of empty hedonistic  space.

The clock winds down towards an

abysmal  orgasm of pain.

Shellacking up and down the twilight of tomorrow.

The lyricism music of words dance

around the afterthought of days gone by.

An airy feeling of delight oozes out of

the four corners of the gray sinking matter.

Subliming into the thickness of the reality of nothingness.

Dissolving each step into its icy gospel.

1-2 step, 1-2 step, 1-2 step.

The symphony of time and omniscient composer.

The pitter-patter of falling whales and dolphins

etch into the rising sunset.

The fatelessness whisper murmurs into the

suppleness of a virgin’s body.

Caressing the essence of the fulcrum of being.

Slowly…rising and falling, underneath and overneath.

Dance, dance, dance to the mute sounds of the echo of darkness.

The clock strikes 12 its midnight again.

The dark blue sky hums a melancholy tune.

The moonshine covers the empty city with light.

He looks up at the ceiling as he lays on his hospital bed.

Waiting for the clock’s hands to fall.

His heavy breathing forms a sound in his head.

Hee-hu-hee-hu-hee-hu-hee-hu-hee-hu

the dextrose dances its tube to the beat of breathing.

Rhythmically jiving.

The music fades and dips into black.

The clock strikes 12 its lunchtime as his stomach tells him.

The eerie sound of flies buzz around as he opens his lunch.

The sound of computers talking about work fills the heavy air.

He listens to a tune in his head its Duran Duran

with a tint of Boy George.

What an akward mix of music…

How strange could that be?

As the music fades and dips into black

he finishes his meal and drowses for a power nap.

Walking through the endless galaxy of his dreams.

Waking reality seems unreal.

He wakes up and talks to the computer.

The clock strikes 12

its midnight and the sun

is falling into the night sky.

The clouds erupt and burst into an orange hue.

The baby cries as he leaves the darkness

and is covered in light.

The ceaseless wails fill the white faced room.

As the doctor cuts his umbilical cord

it is its own being.

Feeling the moist air breathing in the smell of garbage

by the roadside.

Seeing the plethora of colors within the clean well-lighted room.

All life breathes into the feeble body, learning it on its own.

The excruciating pain of the cut life line to its God.

Composing its own tune dancing to the beat of its own reality.

The symphony of cries drowns out

the silence into the abyss of turmoil.

The clock strikes 1:00A.M.

The crying stops to the hum of

Twinkle Twinkle.