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.