Empty glasses
Are cleaner when they’re full.
Rewrite the psalms they’ve all gone wrong.
Prescribe the masses.
Has everybody gone away?
We sit alone and, watching, they can see it on our face.
We’re made of plastic.
Pose my arms and walk me home.
I know the script but, even with your guidance I just never know.
We’ll rot, we’re rancid.
Cataclysmic overload.
Make mornings bright I shirk and die like children to the cold and
Sing. Cuz this won’t grow old.
To the seven lies I cling.
From the seven lives that grow.
When they burn
And they rise
Coming
Back to me whole.
If we’re all alright then
Why is there bleeding from my trunk
In seven samples we find five of mortifying apathy
Eggs broken from the shelf
With bleeding yolks and burning selves
Abort the prone and report the known.
Why
Rely and dote
On pressure thoughts and measure.
Fly
Skirting. Remote.
Forlearning, break this yearning.
