Pixelated like honeygold crumbs
Stuck to the wall are halfdone dreams
They're aspirations of an artist
Maybe even a poet's


It's only the ants that
Makes it left to be desired
Scraps for the emptied souls


Left the gallery devoid of humanity
Left stuck in blank street, writer's block
Left alone after the magic school bus departed


After I stayed up all night writing my sonnets
And wasting away my contemporary life
Reading something that eventually will be forgotten


It reflected molded like cookie-dough
Tender from the creator's hands
Eventually returns to dust


-Juxtaposition after Juxtaposition-
-Juxtaposition after Juxtaposition-
-Juxtaposition after Juxtaposition-


Colored polaroids turn to gray
Fluttering wings in the vindictive net
They might never fly again


But everyone must know it
A human being's rudimentary
Learning to walk


It's the need to
Be able to walk away from it
From being a pop-art captive


By reason, life, meaning
Maybe after this day of charades
I'll take a ride in the warhol subway express
But I aint taking my glorious 15 minutes