On split finger webbing,
blistered metatarsal pads,
catlike: left left, right right.
You're just over there?
You call this chasm just?
On split, sore patella,
charred hands,
the head hanged loosely,
as dead: left left, right right.
My head down, eyes up, right?
Compensation has been tendered
for the services rendered, right?

                          Right?

flame in a dark pit
rain on a mountain
ice
   in the veins:
                          blockade
one of these days

techno nightmares will break
through
   analog purity,         of course
      they will but,         then
   you'll have it your way,
where dust becomes you more
than your electric
   dreams,         of course,
you would rather be muted

i won't

What if it rained daisies today?
And no one got wet
and nothing washed away?

What if the sun shone bright
as daisies flew?

What if the breeze blew
soft daisies like spinners
in the wind?

Would we all be happy then?