there are no sheep.
just wolves with
sheepish tendencies,
each boasting the
ability to bite.
-
rust falls in
dusty flakes
only to make
room for new.

paint chips.
wilted petals.
baby teeth.

expelled
replaced
by something
bigger and better.

when there's
only room for
the one of 'em.

a mushroom doesn't grow
on top of another mushroom
but next to it.

quiet now.
just the cold caress
of the breeze left.
no more salty
sweat or tears.

rustfree, scratchproof.
temporarily titanium.

until
an agonizing internal groan
like industrial sabotage
of factory machinery.
gears grind and steam moans.
everything jerks to a halt.

the mechanic is a cannibal.
they're all bloodsuckers really.

no noble stairs around here anymore.
just elevators, that only lift you up
when they get to come along.
not like stairs at all.