Garden His umbilical cord was really connected to an answering machine Recording only outgoing messages which rationalized the universe's calamities Examining events as clasped links within chains of necessity Confining himself to cardboard boxes pasted with The syllables of philosophical speculation, this was his Tree Of Life, constructed from a deck of cards, A perennial pyramid of patterns and logical chronologies. Pangloss's home was his mind imprisoned by barbed wire fences The circular cogs and wasted wheels of his thoughts immobile His curtained eyeballs were shuttered lenses laced with frilly indifference. I refused to drink from pools of Leibniz's laudanum within outstretched hands A cynic on his views of creation, this wasn't the best of all possible worlds His clocks consisted of stalled pendulums while time never stood still. My mentor was a dehydrated plant still spreading apathetic advice I was maneuvering through his plastic procession, Flinging moccasins and oral protestations on Trivialized human tragedies and preventable experiences I started my own seed dispersal, a petunia trying to persuade others. While pseudo metaphysical masters applied for permanent retirement Before even working while continuing Cerebral conversations which would impede the cultivation of our garden.Birth sign: Not entered
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