Populate fate
With a populous of optimists—

Opportunists tuning the music
Fusing clueless, useless, musing
To fantastic, classic, grooving
That’s fast, elastic, and moving

Dance in accordance
To the sentences sense of importance

The casting is not ceramic
But cinematic

Not pedantic in intent
Or contrary to a merry sentiment—
Just fussed up enough—
Bent down from sound
To silence like sirens
Blaring on far away islands

A
mix of
Antics, yes,
Attics of those
Aromatic, romantic,
Phallic heads of the rose

Wet
Shadows of rain
With a transparent silhouette
And call it reality
Errant air, water, and gravity forming a sea
That is this normalcy

Same as veins flood
Like contained rivers of blood

Inside such a gaudy oddity
That we come from the unknown
And are grown inside a body

The actual space
You take cannot be erased
Just merely displaced
Like lakes
Evaporated in the crater
The meteor makes