Snip! Snip! - readers' theatre

Nether reaches of ether materialize
into I, me, my: 'illusory superiority;'
stagnate, ill-informed, cognitive bias;
allegoric, schizophrenic limericks;
simpleton remarks about nothing but
falsities on a page, a note, a value on
life, as if bodies are immobilized and
imaginations soar to reinvent the wheel
house washing away tears left ashore
and lives between crevices of rocks fed
on drowned bobs hooked to mouths of
flesh and blood from one breath that is
of the earth, the moon and the stars
speckled across the night sky as if time
travelers in another age, lost and forgotten
tribes of aliens spawned amidst dark
matter, out of ether and into nether;
a vortex of thoughts in a vacuum;
levitating spirits suspended in time/
space, forgotten, windy whispers
that make I, me, my so important now
to me and me alone amidst clamor,
mayhem and Armageddon of sorts
with 'nukes' because everybody thinks
they are more important, they blow
others up. Yet everybody is literally 'blue
blooded,' the color of the ocean from space,
'kroovy red' when spilled from gullets of
Orion and Pisces, 'great gods that come
from governing skies who take away
everything and make everybody feel high;
but if you know what life is worth, you
will look for yours on earth.  So, now I see
the light, I will stand up for my right' to live
in the margins of life applying a hand
when needed to act, but mostly 'observing
the hypocrites' adding to everything and
reducing to nothing at the same time;
pedagogues and ideological pedestals
that is a result of a new world status:
gaseous speeches that lambast personages
over waves of varying forms into rooms
with closed-in-minds further stifling words
from truth and self determination to learn
when libraries are open twelve hours per
day.  Who needs school unless it is a tool:
a platform from which to spring forth
and apply in the world or sit by a pool,
beer-a-fool, tan, whatever-like-wow-man!?
All I am saying is if I ran to a wrack on a
black as night morning in a stampede for
illusive satisfaction from an object of gory
glory under a heel sharp as steel to temple
mounted spirits crushed by weight of paper
in pockets who can't point to names on
world maps and vote...it's a lost cause to
procreate. So, I saw a urologist for that
particular side effect being illusory to you.