O My Society

dinner out tonight and
the garage contains a beep
from a dismantled fire alarm, it
still

makes sound
in the brain regardless of what
thoughts are

think of the machine and pop
goes the weasel
right under our breath

fresh air, gains a sip of
clear, filtered water, yum,
yet still hungry, pumpkin

weather in the church of salivating
glands the landing mobile and hunched
over paper the screen replaces a scroll with
a one-touch-option enabling a definitive pause before

origami can take shapes and splice them
where whatever
would usually appear—the walls of which
make a sandwich and talk about
breading horses with genetic-orchards only
monstrous industries could know of—we

would not bore each other with such fowl talk, perhaps
it all is too ridiculous anyway, why
jabber on and on and about the highway, here listen
to the news it actually has something to say wait in
line, not another day, stupid commercial jingles, that kind
of green-pea

split-soup steam switches me right up and grapes grab the light
fixture off guard, what
charts can handle these un-housed waters, what mimics
the request of mirrored waves, are there
glasses on the dashboard, or

are those potatoes chips still in the bag awaiting a mouthful of answers, wait
a minute

I’ll be right back

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