Just Static (Sonnet)
Doors within doors within doors within doors
just like some silly three stooge comedy.
Now I am standing on some Scottish moors,
Islamic Jihad is setting out tea.
It just never ends, and it never stops,
this insane babble just plays in my head.
Now this tower of inanity flops
from one subject to the next subject, dread
visions flow to joy, but now no nearer
to divine Godhead than to the blackheads on
my chin. Oh, I'd love to be the bearer
of glad tidings but nirvana's been down
on her luck lately and still needs a fix.
Getting past that third chakra's just a bitch.
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