a stew of mortal
affordable gifts,
litter our lives,

tacky raining clouds
dribbling

- no -

its more like
robotic justice

we're
muzzled frantic cherries
chained to the liver
of mass media

- no -

its
hysteria, rumor, intrigue, ******
****

that’ll do...

two hundred thousand years
of this, you’d think we’d know
you reap what you sow

- no -

just clubbed fish
gawking for air
until deathly
first world bar-b-q

wine of cold lonely grapes

life on a pedestal
is sure to topple

maybe we'll eat
apples during the
fall