by Malik Peterson

audio served by beat4poets

It’s funny how patterns of tattered matter flow

Causing desire to live in slumber rather than actual
Capitalizing on acts that cut back like razor shards
Swaying the facts while thinking on track, days are hard

Playing the part to break apart, technically state of the art,
Flows of color coded insatiable art, vivid with no remorse, bold,
Enough for, or too much for, any canvas, knows no Morse code
I’m sold on what it offers out, to the public’s nightlife, cold

Living spaces become warm when the image changes
And rearranges into something even stranger to strangers
Days and nights keep them champion for all ages
Pause, wages unimportant on this playing field of dreams
When we share the same field we play with different teams 4
Seamless reams of paper chased through rivers and streams
Streamers from ceilings play the roles of shingle schemes
A single thing, multiplies into greatness, deemed through scenes
By the robust engine of imagination, come clean through, 5
To the far side of nearly all eyes, shut in reverse to mount a coup
And overthrow the senses governed by realism…so tactical
Impractical ramblings of a parallel world are actual
The factual speaks in capitals, mental escapades became practical 6
When the need for escape became natural,
So catapult, yourself into the world of fantastical leaps
And live a dream the way it was meant to be lived….