An ice-cold sugar cookie sun glosses over the lonely bones
Of a world derived from godly madness and space dust
A sepia depression dawn shimmer of light
The people of the world are shapeless and seemingly gone
Lost within the confines of selfishly habitual minds
The curvature of humanity has snapped like a summer-weathered animal spine
The wasp workers clear snow from parking lots to make way for all the religious-like gatherings
Where the people of the world fall to wounded knees and worship products and prices
Reach up with quaking bones to fondle molded mannequins void of heart and blood
Curdled music dangles from the fluorescent heavens like silver ribbons
The Karen and Brad monsters snarl and curse the uniformed sad angels
As they move robotically, tethered to the social mechanics of immoral survival
Lost deep within the electric neon guts of blocky cathedrals nested upon historic rubble
Uninspired architecture that devours the once green and golden landscapes of the world
In long chaotic visages beneath purple and eggnog-colored skies
Loneliness rattles along the alabaster boulevards like an abused and abandoned shopping cart
Exploratory burglary everywhere in the burnt brickwork
Vicious viaducts are concrete cradles for the unfortunate dreamers
This obtrusive dimension merely a labyrinth for a lab man
This planet does not suit the skin of everyone after all
These cold, autonomous days; spirits exalted, spirits snuffed
Like embers and emperors in Iceland upside down.
CEREAL AFTER SEX 