Trust Funds of Mundane Nightmare

I climbed your verbose tongue...
voided of public sight,
by translating tertiary tenements;
Meanings, vacated of reason,
put to streets in solid residues,
seeping into phenomena of parlance,
and losing droplets of individuality
into subconscious groundwater.

The rising tidal shift
of my involuntary responses,
to this external stimuli, liquidated
the productive interpretation
of lifelong dreams,
into hungry trust funds
of mundane nightmare.

Yet still spoke you on;
threshing ideas into the wind,
and kept the grains of epiphanies
hidden from view,
to deprive the thievely stares
of populous generations;
that they might not swallow you whole.

20:20|15.2.016 ©c.thom.carter