Lady on the train

She squashed the most accessible identities into her travel case hoping nobody will notice the chameleon she'd become

She sat on a carriage where her high frequency presence forced her hand to paint on her armour in instructed patterns then , intensity heightened, reinforce it over and over until she was sure nobody would find her
Then it didn't matter that time is boundless because we imagine we could shackle it and she has to look Marilyn-esque when the all dictating short hand strikes 6

 Fantasy is an aperitif from the battle ground and there are wars more subtle than the diabolical assertions of masculinity that spark more than gunpowder screaming in the pit of a phallic barrel and more mesmerising than its psychedelic spectrum

Smiling at other people's kids and dogs was all too fruitless but she could afford the mild engagement of the small muscles that cornered her mouth and who could lose, paying grace to somebody's child
The reciprocated acceptance is a taste of the comfort she lives for and she made that stolen moment home. She sensed the song of that puppy's heart playing through her stroking fingers and sang uncalculated words through the lips of a baby girl

A universal blurb and a flavouring sprinkle of mummy became the melody she eased into with the clunk of railway drowned under it's luxury bed. She snuggled for a gracious millennia until the train stopped at her nightspot, so she hastily scrambled the stories of the little girl and folded them under the camoflage on her cheeks
 The carriage doors opened setting her free on the stage to metropolis where she had people to be

mindless states of mind

Was it canned laughter that had all the audience react in time for an appropriate length of time every polished time in every episode of friends
and did the bowels of group attention shake their tectonic plates whenever Graham Norton said bowel or nothing more foul than bum or 'come' in the face of the thinking mainstream
 because juvenile innuendo is so irrepressibly consciousness shattering that adults are swept off their feet with only the collective vibration of sonic shaking to ground them from being catapulted off into the ether trapped in frozen splinters of individuality
Why analyse and compute the repressed sexuality of post war slap-stick carry ons if we just carry on

In the trial of antics in denial through semantics
getting sloshed is termed 'avin a drink', to disguise the desperation of frying nerve endings of a  few hundred thousand brain cells so we can get to know each other.
while suspending the pursuit to know ourselves

When girls make themselves deliberately sick with a goal of appearing anorexic because the industry of parading size zero is epic, isn't there an imbalance between instinct and logic
No matter how many times she hears airbrush she actually hears status, meaning approval
meaning the security of being wanted and spirals into the warped vortex of a popularity contest
as though she's cognitively dislexic or so wilfully irrational that flirting with suicide is as skilfully fashionable
as matriarchs becoming subordinates

We don't even seem to mind
that 24 hour carbon rays will send us blind ,
alongside pesticides on our insides :
That the toxic damage of cosmetics doesn't end with the spraying of ammonia into the eyes of a restrained animal and doesnt stop eating you because you had a shower

and most of the money in most of the vaults are just the life source  of sugars and salts  weaved through the sterile womb of lethargic soil and more Haitian eco-structures

These are earth's jewels ,  
We've refined her fuels and sucked them to become pollutant mutants
since restoring the milk of her nurturing breast cannot be achieved with the genius of synthetic augmentation

So the masters of the planet catch more cancer than any other mammals
So scienctificaly progressive that we're teetering on Armageddon
And in the great expanse of time we got here without blinkin
Defined by fathomless intellect somehow we consistently suspend thinking
rendering the difference between common sense and nonsense superfluous
Ultimately fate will deal according to our performance
from genesis to the present
when the light came on
though no-one's home