I was afraid of the plot spoiler,
Eschewing the part of the fortune teller,
Lighting smoke and mirrors to celebrate
Giving jest of purpose falling carved on its face.
Makeshift art cobbles the exit strategy,
Minding steps where intended, alarm on silent,
Another boredom reduction strategy sings,
Waxing through circumstance a cold circuit.
A stain on the glass proves nothing now,
Playing to the gallery a subtle confession,
Planting herbs quietly for lack of evidence
Megaphoning special efforts lovingly sour.
Miniature handbags betray a sudden wealth,
Wanderlust divisions call the last post,
Ceramic points of view a great white hope,
Cheering alarms a blunt act of discovery.
Handshake a given crime, too much to recall
Burning down familiarity to a just cause,
Flashing cameras a blackened luxury
Plagiarised from experience a continuous mess.
Forgotten flowers adore the lightning shelf,
Forgetting work for fear of the wooden spoon,
Qualified to burst down banks of ridicule,
Feeding shovels of lard to a blond future.