My mother wanders into the fancy party,
A bull in the china shop,

Her eyes are saucers as she watches
Waiters enslaved to the night

Unidentified identities lie behind masks
She's afraid


Not unsmart she repeats
Not uncultured
Not uncivilized

Not un (is) not un (is) not un (is)
A meter, a harmony, a rhyme
Meaning inherent

Buried the sleeping bags
(Bodies inside)

Ate concrete blocks
Drank tangled wires

Welcome to the Jungle
South of Ithaca.

Smashed bottles
Shattered illusions

Shoved tires
(Inside ground)

Welcome to the Jungle
South of Ithaca.

Hey, how was your day?
(do you still hate me?)

It was okay.
(yes I am still mad)

Anything interesting?
(what can I do to get you to forgive me?)

Nope.
(Not  a single thing.)

Words not said:
I love you,
I can't be mad at you,
I'm sorry.

To the author,

Forgive me,
I have loved too deeply
the shadows of your type
I've stolen your creation
Locked it away in a tower
Thrown away the key
Incinerated all ties to you
Starved, it died.

Love,
The Reader

Mina Mina she declares
Life is hopeful
Pink and red.
She instructs me to wash
my hands and listen
to my parrot
She is feminine power
fearless leader

Mina Mina she lies
of no use know
what does she know
of wife beatings? Of
Dumpster scavengers? Of
rationing food? Of
Children in whom no one
Believe?

Mina Mina she is dead.

"You're going to hear me mooooo"
sings the Cow.

"Oh shut up,"
interrupts the Fox,
Of the late viral video hit,
from the next cubicle over.

"I'm sorry, but
you should go work somewhere else.
Somewhere for
lesser animals,"
Lion adds.

So the Cow left,
relegated to laughing
and the abundant sale
of her breast milk.

She never sang
again

I guess I shouldn't be listening to
a spot against the sky's colossal gloom
And land deflated in the evolutionary
past we go
It aimed at windows' frosted panes
this is what it studies in romances
And does anyone know that
the species invents symbols
To the contest otherwise they'll
how oftentimes the day
Has left.