We are like neutered mutts,
drowsily as we sate on.
100 years of 24 frames per second
left too many of us wondering about the future
while reflecting on a past
never engaged in the present
always being.

The radio is concerned,
a voice drones on
flies over our head
and broadcasts into the living room.

This energy is a wave, follow the sin
Your body already knows how to covert the pressure
into electricity for your receptors.

Later, we stand at the altar
of boys with guitars
of boys with mics
The aux cable beheads his neck
we pardoned a sea of excuses
The F/A-18 drops the mic.

Women salivate the crowd.
That other gentile touch.
Throw a burka on that *****
Magazine dictate should we be?
Clip up pandora,
the liquid streams on.

There was never a box.
You were just born with fingers and toes
to touch ears to hear eyes to see a brain
to think to receive a nose
to breath a mouth to kiss and say,

"There is disappointment everywhere but still I love."