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