The cats get the Cradle
the beetles get the bread
and the cherry-cheeked children,
the children
all are dead

The world is growing smaller
the Sun is getting hotter
it is all a fault of ours
a fault of ours so faulty
falling gently, screaming, kicking
to the ground
so we give

The cats the Cradle
the beetles get the Bread
and the cherry-cheeked children,
the children
all are dead

Men are exploding
children are smoking–
smoking needles
eating beetles
black and pink
Beatles
The Beatles all are dead
not the legend, just the passion
so instead we give

The cats the Cradle
and the beetles to the bread
and the cherry-cheeked children
the children
all are dead

because the world
turned upside-down
all together, upside down

sons in shoe-heels
lipstick jungles
deep violet secrets
girls in pants
panting
running from understanding caring
claiming you are open-minded
too open-minded to mind
the option
of a closed mind
so instead,
**** the trees for

the cat’s cradle
feed the beetles to the bread
since all the cherry-cheeked children
and their childhood:
all dead.