As Much Freedom As

If only ashes had a voice of despair, I'd chew them in my mouth for stimulation
For a lovemaking suit of a severed tongue in a galactical parked van
Offering red balloons for bullet wounds and candle wax trails,
To hear the wisdom under an ultrasound radar,
Ravished and unspoken, tokened and traded Neptune philosophy,
I'd romanticize a thousand imaginary fantasies of the lost minds who offered their beings to the slag market.

Like the dance of the secret service and militarized brothels
Banging bedposts of Liberty barebacked, delighted,
I surf the hallways of corporate gardens,
Picking unbloomed fruits, the blossoms that burst in allergens,
Mysteriously swallowing the winters waiting to come around,
Alive and unsound in the old days of cable news.

A town of infected sheep sleeping soundly in mourning trees,
Tousled by humanitarian torpedoes aimed at the esophagus,
Routinely stripped searched in glass screens for a bad mix tape
Hidden in a desk draw full of break up junk
Floating on a firework powered bicycle, burning
As much freedom as a ridden dogtooth.

Pinched between the unwashed digits and cucumber sandwiches,
A factory of the classy and coldly unsatisfied and unsurprised,
Smiling a wave at pricey pins on coat hangers,
Stalking the money round-about in shady armor for sleep,
The price of sold souls sewed on slowed grandfather clocks,
Ticking their chimes backwards for a dreamed far-away venture of child nostalgia.