Crossed Legs Poem by Miss Unknown Empty

The drag of cans thrown around my mind
this a sign of time: loneliness,
tears of pain drain down my abstract face
to look upon walls of solitude,
layered stacks of love sags into one another;
for who it there to be loved?
Crystal clear sand beaches upon the route of escape
draining sanity from my plane... the head is as good as dead.
Sweet smiling pictures, separate from the flesh, that the
skin of pain... the kitchen drain, upon the the table top below
the floor she bounced from life, guided by the text. Rocking in unit
segments, they tripped beyond my feet.
I sat as many times before, alone in solitude, to watch the perptual
roll of the waves... I'm a slave it can be.
Lightly painted daughters of middle class faces drive stakes of dead
illusions into my spine... board stiff the waves showed no riff.
Bound by dimensions of physically established unit components to
drift. Bird releasing cloud of deviation, a half fad make believe
students, attempt their acknowledgement.
Those not aware of socialization, only engulfed in it, in prevailing
un-uniform conformity among those anarchy.
Shiftless individuals seeking concrete feet, to walk the stone path
of secondary group inter-action.
Daughters of economic slaughter puff lightly upon 10-cent lovers
norms.
The surreal world of the functionalized, organized brave-
land.
Home of forgotten children locked in the outer-room, the hawk
murdering in-effectionate, senile killer of black people, of red poeple, of brown people, of white people, of yellow people... DEAD!
They are all DEAD!