I am imagining the active particle
The noun inevitably becomes a weapon
And the verb seeks it's naked rations
Of relative invigoration
We are actually traveling
Among our own relatives
While sisters deepen dents in their own bellies
We make the things that happen to salty sirens
As hundreds of huddled fishes
Whisper poems to the lips of elderly singers
Still we are just showmen singing for our dinners
What truly matters is can we listen
Or do we snicker at the working stiffs
Who bring liberal deposits of consciousness
To the empty coffers of our impermanent imaginations