“ mornin’ folks, my name’s skye, guess i’m your driver today,
so just sit tight, buckle up, keep yer noises down, an’ don’t
forget t’ flush the john . . . an’ ah, no smokin’ ’til the next stop ” . . .
*** ***
and, with that eloquent and heartfelt epithet, blown
from the very lips of an angel, as our vomit-colored
bus trundles off toward the sunset along route 442,
just south of miles junction, and hard by the tracks
out past the county landfill toward that architectural
monstrosity built back in truman’s day usin’ money
disappropriated from the bureau of indian affairs to
hide from pryin’ eyes the facts, of what exactly, they
were goin’ to build was none other than a bonafide,
top-secret, underground research facility, operatin’
for the sole purposes of explorin’ mankind’s infinite
capacity for engagin’ in enterprizes far beyond their
ability to understand, while marchin’ off, towards a
future they have deluded themselves into thinkin’ is
lined with rose-colored afterthoughts, when all that
everybody really needed to get along was just a few
words of kindness, tolerance, or compassion, and
every once in a while, the strength, that comes from
patience, or the shelter that comes from forgiveness,
and, one day, when we wake up to find all our hopes
have run off with our dreams, we will also discover, that all
this world ever needed, was, and still is, is love . . .
*** ***
Welcome to BizneyLand
( an’ thanks for usin’ FrailWays )
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