Bubble Perception

September 29, 2017
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Coded, shriveled up newborn, swaddled and bundled and tied up like a knot in washed jean blue and overcast sun fleece, holding in all of the snuggles and secrets that the petite one has, while not retaining the intellect of those passwords.
Prepared, the powerwashed plastic and tempered glass shacks, boarded up like mansions, enclosing the dangers of the world, protecting the storm, responding in ways more violent than not.
Approved, a bleached body roaming through the rustling walkways, fake hallways and hardware detectives that dings at almost every soul that breathes the stuffy air of cleaning chemicals, when the only accomplishment the faint one wants is a bronze coating.
Decided, a candy made car speeding through the fist built path by Wreck It Ralph, full speed ahead down the yellow brick road, to bargain for more goodies to speed through growth quicker than ASAP.
Expression, only the consumption that resembles affection solely worn on the branches of the soul and the core of desire.
Supported, like a base, sturdy like the Statue of Liberty through Hurricane Sandy, like the green and yellow 2 cm. thick, hollow stretch of a bungee rope, harnessing.
Inspected and watched, like Operation Remington, spying on everyone, learning where their funny bone is and where they keep their spare keys, everywhere on everything with a glass eye attached to a metal rectangle.
Organized and clean, the “satisfying” place where I’s are dotted and T’s are crossed, where colored pencils go to survive the crazy experience of the shadow of an untouched canvas.
Built and shaped, like clay being molded and spun, by cracking hands, making a blob of mush, a masterpiece in disguise, the north to the south of the formation of bubble juice unlike the spherical worlds that glare through the luminescence of the juveniles.
Determined, the way a lion would die for it's prey, unknowingly submissive.
Accomplished, crossing the rigid striped line that defined the end but signified just the beginning of a new passion.
Improved, the way a shy person newly views a crowd in their underwear to speak in front of one person after years of hiding behind the curtain of surrender and self assumption.
Involved, more complex than pencil stained headphones or an itty bitty gold linked chain necklace in a jumbled mess of a knot.
Excluded, a simple being, human that just wants to sit at the table with the cool kids and wear pink on wednesdays when laundry day is on thursday.
A gifted vision, a wander that walks through space in the spinning bridge tunnel at the longing place where the only payment accepted is kettle corn.
Simplified, a polynomial function anticipating it’s opportunity to break down like a hip hop dancer with an open floor willing to expose everything and break the status quo.
Designed, an intricate and clever maze that is shown all over in the red, blue, and green acrylic paints of emotion, and a marble maneuvering towards the end that doesn’t exist and never will.
Ready, a fish wanting to be taken from the fishtank by the window just so that maybe they could be a drop in the ocean by a the pesky yet quite friendly pelican that kisses the window with it’s loud beak each and every day, because all it wants is a, "fish are friends, not food," kind of relationship.
Advocated for, by the brave lands being taken for granted by the and spitting waters that gain power and anger.
Calculated, from a big warehouse where a new type of being is in the process of creation by computer programs, so the lands of our universe no longer have trees to lean against, rather they’d have big, beeping, blue and red flickery light filled boxes of numbers.
Shrunk, the way an irrelevant one flies through the air, staring down at the cubicles and fellow ants, the way the ocean views the land in a world with over 7 billion people in a world we continue to destroy.
Cared for, in particular by the beginning of the generation, of the name and the jeans worn at the reunions, by the air surrounding the descent, by the culture I know I’ll have because of the genesis
Coached, the howls and screeches from the top of a wolf’s lungs that sound like disappointment but is overflowing with love and soft fur that just longs to be pet.
Monitored by the men in big black cars, with spray on, permanently plastered, big black suits, that are protected by everything but themselves, by the scandalous oak trees that tower over everything in sight, tough and substantial looking.






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