Sitcom-Corpse Still Talks

a quick sip of
coffee keeps
company with acrid

haste, cars
and highways
in the veins, bile

building
cities out of
rubble, migrants
who simply can’t escape, breathing

beneath
soil of an odor
of free-time, luxury, paid
vacations, for few,

legislation for
sick leave,
critical corners
back saliva

before
a door is signed
off another
receipt for what

many do not think
is okay, we
all make mistakes, yet

measure
greatness not
by a statue or a book
or a cross

word of family
structures, and then
perhaps we become closer to
our own skin, but

until then
as far away as Pluto
is, as it becomes
larger via images

of what we
can now see, the
spots
in the creaky
wooden chair-theory

are becoming
large
skin-disturbances

grey-wrinkling,
aging spots
of assimilating factors

of elderly
realities, the years
of corn and the
replacement of real fields
with falsified or tampered
genetics

these things and more
sugar and
less communication between

ingredients and a dog
barks outside
car screech—window, the

things left
in new people’s ears, phone
and governmental

period points, people
in need
as if issues were a baseball game

and
it’s impossible to decipher
because the announcer
filters all

relevant
calories
on coconut water

to the listeners
of dead-radio stations, and
stars thumb-tacked
to bar walls

the music playing
tonight, everyone
wants a good laugh

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