the birds sing songs that they just don’t know
It isn't sweet, it's cavities on sun-kissed peace
Oil coating on the PFC
A bird that dances, but not to the tune he sings
And I sweat oceans when I think about the overhead
All I say anymore is that we can't afford it
You’re better off dead
That's something the worms must’ve said
I'm sure they get hungriest when we procrastinate
And I loiter anyway
Marching our boots together on treadmills with pictures painted ahead
Flexing modern movement like a gun
With pockets full of dreams that we nurse like whiskey
I exist in the snowglobe that god twists, then hands off to the empyrean
And sometimes it doesn't snow until spring
And when it comes, the lakes don’t freeze
Our symmetry is subjective if I check on it
So I rely on instinct more and more today
The towns persist as sinking rifts
And an earth root is followed by wire threads to an amorphous end
Cables and strings in backyards
Zapping the trees out of conformity
Branches low-hanging over disarrayed elements of the human sort
We breathe toxically because that's the way we bleed
Our greatest imitations have full bellies, and we are a concord in the shape of a fork
Pleased as we choke with our manners
Hopelessly bored
You’ll be dead before you’re heard
Robotics simulate kitchens
Contemporary laughter kills wisdom
And the artichokes eventually grow into humans
With real people emotions
And all that I can think of are the survivors of our daydreams
I make saffron rice with deli meat
And espresso in plastic
Just as it had to be
A crook with perfect chemistry
And a smile filled with teeth of many cavities