All ideas object to what is not real
like immaterial thoughts, wisps of clouds
little to hold or grasp, to touch or feel
immediately, the fork comes to hand
deliberately, without a thought to think
engage with intuition, consider
artifice to create the world of forms
suspect designs never follow function
obscenity without right intention
bolster subversive art not for art's sake
jeans and cowboy boots, shirtless men who kiss
eject the punk aesthetic to accept
crass casualty, above the skyline
tickets to radiant theology
touch the stars with a glance, anarchy reigns
over the lies of ideology
wicked to imagine a candle flame
honesty with mistakes, acts of regret
aspects of disappointment serve to meet
terror, torture, and trauma at the door
ideology bolsters the archway
supplants reason for faith in persona
nothing but disguises, masks fool the crowd
obey the leader or fail to succeed
transform the world with small acts and favors
relish the illusion, the delusion
evanescent and ephemeral scenes
all remains still, nothing ever changes
lonely as clouds, the appearance is death
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