Barcode Poem by Leon Moon

I seek nothing but the impending highway,
The immortalisation of history;
The splash into a heap of rocks and coal
Is set to blood even before the hole
Envelops our eyes turned to a crossway
Gauging reflections for its own abyss.
Shadows preserve nothing but themselves as
They slay the day in hope to be memory.

The break honing breath to genuflection,
The filthy tapestry mimicking sin,
A handkerchief silhouetting a spire,
A cockcrow's strut for men to aspire
Welcomes fire and boredom to be the child's tear
Clotting the pillow with smut on a pyre
Flowing drier as the throat's base fills in
A carnavillic trance set out within.

The springs which fortify ideal living
Never stop giving in as they're giving;
Our electric pens herding purple clouds
Bloom geometrical flowers to sounds,
Guide us to the drill of nowhere, the will
Cast in front the shield of how to perceive!
Sheep check-out daily, living to deceive,
Giving themselves leave through recited thrill.

The whitelines split into zebra crossings
And bleep out in an instant the ravings
Of an alchemist pretending they've missed
Those who can only be caught reminisced,
A mime is torched inside a buttercup,
He was burnt for insinuating crime,
The rigged beauty on the shadowed highway
Promising nothing else but a story.