Jammed in traffic

Surrounded by seas
Of stucco white
Gazing longingly at
The great blue aquatic
And beige beaches
Calling my name in
Broken English
Like everything else
That moves
My neurons and
Synapses fight wars
With metaphysical
Poetism
Bullets like similes
And metaphor mortars
And yet nothing
Creative breaches
The gates
Studying the
Nuances of
English language
Becomes excuse for
Anti-realism

This pen once again becomes
Escape.
And I will lie
In the bottom of this place
And hold my fears in my hands
And clenched my teeth will bleed
dripping silently
with words unsaid
And clenched my hands will hold
You close to me
My very own cobra
Regardless, here I am
Stuck in traffic
In the center
Of capitalistic everywhere
At half past
The devil's hour