Crazy Town

Locked away but not away; somewhere nearby but unreachable, a periphery so notfaroff it's always in sight.

A punk scarecrow, endowed by life, annihilates its roots and revitalizes its territory.

Hiding inside&out, writhing about, taken out&in.

This cacophony runs over me, over everything I see, everything I want to see: it's me.

Return to 'burn' only to find out you're already in that urn.

(Some of us) Still run down the same [mental&emotional] streets we revered/reproached/replaced as children.

Rather pointless, rather stilted, fetid; not what we want us going after.

Abandoning the Abaddon-loathed abandoner opens plenty of reclaimed... everything(s).

Centrist revelations abound among repetitions & revisitings.

Something I know or something I was told? When something scalding translates something to behold.

Pounding backbeats beaten by [(Don't Get)] warm[welcomes]th.

Slowed, stowed, achingly retold.

Strings together what's strung together (please use yr tether).

Your raging romp results only in rescinded regret @ the hands of radder cadets.

Don't ask me why, but I feel we're about to cry trying.

Say Om as you reach home only to realize you never really left/stopped saying Om.

Still it's really tall. Still it's really floundering/falling/fading.

It's time the times met each other over & over.

Platitudes begin at peaks then rapidly descend and dismantle in order to ascend more acutely until they repeatedly and successively overwhelm.

Trite, closed memories flagrantly bleed into profuse openings mixed & held together by retaliatory colorations & obfuscations.