A perfect week for digging up the block.
If you care, you repair
The infrastructure or it will despair.
Bear with the noise! We aren’t made of air.
Tyrannosaurus rex on tires, gorging horribly,
Fucks the street in bursts and jerks.
The operator riding it bucks and charges forward
And resumes his hippopotamus mouthfuls.
The scene’s a slaughterhouse
With dead meat screaming.
Maybe the concrete is fully conscious?
Major surgery without anesthesia.
You’ll need earplugs and a hard hat
While this berserk year runs amok.
We actually need to talk.
What now? Now what?
We are poor little lambs who have lost our way.
We are little black sheep who have gone astray.
O say can you see what we’re about to be?
What am I, chopped liver?
O say can you see
We’re about to be
The Nuremberg Rally
In an alley?
I text the sky – hi, sky! –
O infinite and blue!
In a green pasture up in the blue sky a cow chews her heavenly cud,
A garland of orchids around her neck.
Cow-eyed Hera – goddess! – but not goodness –
Not calm, patient, selfless abundance –
Not Hindu! Not moo-cow moo!
But, Donald darling, unmistakeably you.
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