Everything is labeled “Must See.”
Everything is marked “Can’t Miss.”

Sales, marketing,
the ritual dance.

This is a bombardment,
not a civilization.

This is the flocking of vulturous pigeons
to feed on the seeds of possible tomorrows.

It’s all a shame, an arresting argument.
Everything is a pea under the only mattress.

There’s only one painting for all of this
and it is named “The Fantasy Of Swimming In Shit.”

Only one song releases us
and it’s called “Sitting By The Stonehenge Fires.”

With closed eyes you might see what it might be
without this air to breathe.

You are not alone, you know.
None of us are, no matter how blindered we feel.