I. Agape, my brother. This notion we do not yet observe: Soured, our eyes throw daggers and spit needles. We cannot decide which is worse. “Ten years,” We say, “ten years of friendship,” “Things will never change.” II. We walk with willows. Lashes of giants acquiesce while ancestors weave signs. Rescue costs $3.33 My dog sits like a human And business is business. “Life’s a bitch and then you die,” Echoes the lo-fi track. It fades to silence. III. My heart beats. It rocks the mattress.
In a time of sky-sailing frigates, and bare feet upon sandier beaches– In a time of android omens and floor-wide human deletions, Creator becomes God as He wrestles with machine demons. When the crows perch upon antennas as opposed to telephone posts, When the dogs no longer wail with sirens, and silence sets with the sun Where will we make ourselves known? Where will our droplets fall? Or will they even fall at all?