Bishops and Brutes

in an uncanny valley,
perpendicular to the strange plains
even the most animated
of grey matters, remains sane

stroll through the galleys
as they’re rowed by limp giants
the trolls move to rally,
with the goal to conspire

aspire to span distances,
greater than their strides allow
they perspire, in efforts
makers that give rise to clouds

orbs that soon shower down
pounding sounds on sapiens
singing choirs in the cranium
in tones, as rich as uranium

savoring tastes from saviors
this behavior soothes the mental
nestled in it’s vessel,
textured nectars, that move to wrestle

proving that there’s few who
are worthy of the ample suckle
they lack the hustle,
lame slackness, cramps the muscle

so their exploits are hampered
by the dealer that provides fear
but can be forever scattered
by thoughts of positive ideas

take the finger nails, impaled
upon the bubbles of thought
not with intentions to grasp,
it’s caught, to eventually pop

releasing the inert gasses
that the masses ingest best
the more that time passes…
it nests, grasped in pressed fleshed

affirmed flex proves best to remove
the burdened chest plate
else unseen rooks inflict wounds
emanates in a certain checkmate