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Naive Complex
Spoken Word...
I fell asleep and woke up in a dreamscape fantasy,
Image plastered over image central,
To the submissive psyche centerfold compulsion,
Instead of revulsion, I was surprisingly numb,
I stubbed my tongue on a brick of canvas,
And wrung it through my hands in a gesture of contempt,
Where words can fail, ideas will grow,
Dripping from my tongue to the garden below,
A mental wet dream of halcyon childhood,
A brain tic rippling through the brooding conscious,
A mode of thought both subtle and obtuse,
No reasoning a way through the conditions of the truce,
Between ego and id, and the debt they’ve accrued,
Deluded images of days long past,
Revisionist history and a half-full glass,
Unburdened with a nicotine fix and a naïve complex condition.
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