MASK CITY MOJO BAG

BLACK PEARL

SPECTRUM WAVE PUBLISHING

COPYRIGHT@2025

Miles to miles,

Beyond the invisible gold lines.

A city of fallen angels, somewhere out West,

, home of coyotes, was unaware,

While faces all wore masks.

(Mask bandits.)

Came in packs.

At night, they silently attack.

They would pass anyone’s post.

If you fit the commander’s executive fugitive description,

Then your name might be added to the list.

According to,

the commander’s coordinates.

Time won’t be on anyone’s side.

Once again, the mad serpent wants to play God —

Like an emperor who wears no clothes to the eyes of the public.

He has no groove,

Which doesn’t serve any purpose.

He sends out a collective of grim reapers with no face —

Mojo bag collection of souls.

Aftermath.

Just listen to this sermon from this poem.

Is this the precise time to fall into the hands of time?

Mass of rabbits lost the race in production,

While the turtles never reach the finish line,

or green pastures.

I know everyone has a number.

When it is your time,

Whether you did the crime,

The Grim Reaper comes to claim you,

While you leave the remaining live souls behind.

In your mind, the first thing you say:

“But I’m not ready yet!

I wanna go back!

I will fix whatever I have done!”

Calamity becomes conclusion,

Especially when the innocents fall on death’s doorstep.

The case became cold.

As you observe, the composition on file looks blue.

Invisible drops of tears somehow touch your fingertips.

As you place it close to your nose,

The nostrils smell an awful scent,

Which makes you believe these individuals

that society suspects could have

accomplished those crimes.

It’s just too easy because they passed,

matched the descriptions,

But it is still cold.

The tears still remain in our hands.

Now, hear me out.

I’m not a detective, doctor,

forensic scientist, lawyer, or judge.

Perhaps,

this may be out of my jurisdiction.

Whoa, brother! Another conspiracy theory.

A team of corrupted lab rats

had conjured up their own experience.

Hollywood created a theme,

While a new, classified network is implemented

a helluva plot to make the story real,

While the bondage cells are left empty,

So cold.

Lab experiments would cook up elite,

blood-blue cases.

Remember, it is all in the numbers.

Publishing, movie rights, broadcasting,

and productions.

Something is really about to erupt.

Wait a minute.

Excuse me for inquiring —

Did you notice industries are merging?

Contents of the series are closing.

Compartments and apps are monopolizing.

What Rockefeller said:

“Hey, monopoly... is that a crime?”

Just read between the lines.

All tied around from a Mask City Mojo Bag.

-BLACK PEARL: "Mask City Mojo Bag."

Black Pearl. Spectrum Wave Publishing.

Copyright © 2025.

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