Faces flash teeth, lean in to preach, teach, stretch possibilities into well-polished facts as if their sooth was worth saying. Damaged/short intellect builds a glut; in-roads, out-roads, roundabouts, Tarzan rope swings. Have we collapsed into a race of tragedians? Basic intelligence gone, MPs, crafty characters in dystopian horror… are we unaware that Ride of the Valkyries is playing overhead? Sleepers in doorways feel the lack of cash, will witness a king on smart plastic paper. We walk on top of surf crashing, assisting wild wind, deafening us, promenade, swim in outside seating, music bombing into you until your head’s alight. Star in a fiery sunset, promise yourself there’ll be more. There was a bomb; it wasn’t smart; The Grand is grand indeed, salutes the sea wearing its best white. Air and wind catch us on corners, curved, ready for scooping, to fly free.
DoubleSpeak 