Not to Go Beyond

I don't recognize faces anymore. There is only a skyline of menacing colors and disjointed shapes. Each with it's own sorted agenda. They no longer communicate prestige. Neither can they register shame. Reputations must comport themselves with a pulsating geometry that resists every hard tool of measurement. Beauty fares no better in this landscape of undulating dimensions. And what of the acoustic complement? It just an earshot of hoarse screams. Unintelligible gurgles sit at the end of each bellow. Allow me to trace your nose and lips before they melt back into the canopy of agitated half circles trying to hold dissolving patterns. The noble and wicked are swished about in this bubbling soup. None may reprimand. None may plea for absolution. We are scattered in the midst of Aristotelian mutiny. Fetch my arm and I will pay you with canteen. Each construct of our parents are now trading cards of indeterminant value cut by social engineers. Do not hyperventilate. Clean air goes for fifteen dollars. Maybe you can haggle down the sticker price whereas every widow has failed prior. We have made a horrible mistake in discontinuing cursive. Let the tots practice signing love notes so they can one day sign bombs with remarkable penmanship. Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: