Ponder the milkman. Uniform obsolescence met evolution Occupation is what you are reduced to, In a body Not meant for boundaries Some nausea from the neighbor’s perfect lawn There is anxiety pouring from that clock Cerebral mardi gras parade rolling the spine Crackling bottle rockets that pepper nerve endings Between the shouting and ******* Accompanied by beads of sweat My love Ain’t all in the hips, some comes Outside of me, but through me all goes All I could ever know And always less I could tell you Things aren’t the same, they never will be That truth like a statue Carved from ever step forward That forgot what backwards meant The Milkmen may be a dead breed But I know children who have soul Dressed all in that pearly white Ready to deliver Themselves To everything.