Speculated, generated, rhyme related
from SuperVixagra Spam, dated 2/17/04
3rd. poem


I DON’T HAVE A CLUE

Twenty yards from heaven

Fifteen minutes of time

Dimensional space can kiss
my face.

If you untie this albatross
from around my neck,
maybe I could fly,
What the heck.

Fly, fly
to the imaginative
kingdom
of the fluid blue sky.

Sky, sky
don’t ask me why
Ezekiel moved to
the exultant high.

A priest and a prophet
his doctrines survived.

Survived, survived
this brandish fog
that’s surrounding
my head
in decedent thoughts
deterring like lead
the subject at hand
or
possibly ahead.

Ahead, ahead
ahead of what
I ponder why
for my mind is in exile,
half of the time
locked in it's chains
as
inaudible anarchy
makes it a slave.

Slave, slave
to computerized programs
that are similar to thoughts
they go into loops
with no defaults.

Defaults, defaults
shall I question
a few,
are probalistic and
inoperative
when you don’t
have a clue.

Clue, clue
a breakthrough
Is seen…
that possibly
thoughts
should
acquire some wings.

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Words used: imaginate fluid ezekiel moved exultant
doctrines brandish fog decedent deterring exile
audible anarchy default probalist inoperative clue
breakthrough