Hypnagogia

I dream purple visions of the New York skyline
like the imperfect motions of a replicant's eyes
in that I choose ambient noise over modern politics,
computing, and cleaning my room. 
Who sees the duality of man through
commercial loops and campaign slogans?


Now I'm in the back of the classroom,
making out with a girl; where I can't speak,
because her legs are on me,
and everyone is starting in starts
"Jesus God, I don't like that"
while their covered up skins in Treyvon hoodies
like plastic empty packs of Skittles
are too much in your mouth at once.


This is the hotbox 
The gateway welling up of meaning
vapid contexts, contests of contests
forgone rights and rites of passage
replaced with Arizona tea cans and e-cigarettes
and a future even worse than Ford's
too much in your mouth at once.