morning dew causing (un)due inspiration
flowing out of cowards head
i see you there,

looking in as if to say
why can't i have a piece
where is my cake
yer cake is in the dumpster with
evidently unyielding unborn soul
all garbage to be taken to landfill at day's end

to be cubed by crushing collapsing compressing cuber
to be rolled over by great heaving garbage dump cesspool machinery
left to decompose and rot
like magnificent little ghandi trash

all dignified passive resistance inaction
what good is cake to the self-starving man anyway
what good is life to the self-immolated tibetan monk
is that who you are
all in flames sitting there
blue hue'd blackened bone