Base of a Pyramid
I couldn't, base of a pyramid. Stout column, I shouldn't... but I must enhance the solemn notes, those boats with sunsets on screens.
I must take all those beat-up cars and calibrate them to the warm light of jackhammers. Mercuries and Comets like jewels in the cemetery, Screaming reds bursting past blaring greens
Through pockets of lubricated horizons squaring suns against the streets into the exit lights of flourescents, the past lights of incandescents.
I shouldn't but I taste it. It's something you just build bricks with, trick, pour concentrate to achieve that bricky, stocky forehead to blockhead to soulhead
Flying into the sky full of rectangles, Full of trying perspective. Election night is drawing near, so lets celebrate moxie, the lines to the points hollering about their fate as bait to time.
Great colored buildings, willings, erections taking directions someone's sorting
them out like buttons in the smog, godwilling, towering complexions tossing the
sky into sections, protecting the atmosphere, learing, jeering, having fun at
whose expense? Some mug? I'll hug.
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