Work for peanuts.
Exist only in the minds of your children.
Live in a box from nine to five.
Squint over black-and-white typeface.
Burn away the years.
Breathe in the musty office air and
Inhale the iron lung melancholy.
Deliver white noise to the unrepressed.
IV drip the manufactured truth
Into ambilevous readerships.
Loosen their tongues in a
Hold the Times up to a funhouse mirror.
Forget the technicolor truths of younger years.
Let them blur drowsily into syrupy amalgamations
Like pipe dreams and palettes
And divorce paper flowers.
Light it all in incinerators of
Watch them happily combust.
After all, in a world without fire,
What can truly cauterize the wound?
Why, vaseline, of course!
“EDUN EHT NI SI THGIL EHT
EHT TA SI EIL EHT TUB