Earth's fields are overcrowded with uns-- countless uns who go about their monotonous routine, doin’ what is expected they know nothing of love un/conditionally Earth’s sacred valleys are full of un/ concerned dolls piled high with behive hairdos tucked inside un/moving hairnets tippy-toed tight shoe- wearing un/conscious uns who seek out approval from the contrived contentions of the un/touchable royalty Earth’s roots stretch out in the un/seen crevices of shallow interstate tunnels in the midst of mountains interrupted by the Susquesehana walls where our noxious fumes permeate our protective SUV filtration systems as we venture towards our final matter-of-fact predestination and filling our cultural alveoli to the very point of rupture every time freshness attempts to cleanse our feeble membranes, but one manages to break free, and release and break free, and release and breath out, out, out un/til the poison that fements the gnat-infested mind is purged by silver sanity un/til calamitous Hanniticious ignorance, like a unction of blackened urine is flushed out of Earth mother's un/healthy bowel. . . but is marked to be recycled as a service rations food for the un/dernourished middle class. . . and altogether un/veiled crimes against all un/suspecting flesh at the whims of one supreme un/feeling human. © 2004 by cynth'ya lewis reed