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Champagne skies
drifting numbly
above this bland town;
Ordinary song
with regular meaning-
The static on the radio
has more flavor
in itís unclear chorus

The sun unleashes itís daily rage
into Tucsonís hallowed heart-
acting like a giant, vengeful eye
carefully watching and judging us all.
Even if we try to glare back
our optics would be
scorched and shriveled Ďtill theyíre golden brown

The people are hungry
each one craving for texture,
famished to the point where
they challenge mirages-
not knowing nor caring
whether they pass that
trembling line across the horizon

This watered down era is overflowing with
diet music accompanied by a starving audience.
Artists near death
masquerade as puppets
for the publicís pleasure
while their efforts feed
a fat, cooperate monster

The censored shade provides
no comfort
from the unrestricted heat-
they would rather be
blinded by this merciless sphere
which heaven exiled.

Fingers and toes, OH NOES!

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The following comments are for "Dry Hands, Empty Art"
by z0har

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