Selling everything for temporary
comfort, and feeling empty for
lack of excitement.
These parallel houses stare each
other down with sad eyes constructed
with the placement of their blinds.
They tell you repeatedly that you were
born to be of use to those around you,
but only through the channels that they
approve of. They line up cans on the railing
of a small bridge, and from the river bank
take shots with their revolvers to practice
their aim.
The only live targets most people
hit are at point blank range so in a way
this exercise was overkill.
Give us nothing for our service
give us nothing for our time.
Forget about us here out by the old bridge
with our guns, and all the water we could
ever hope to drown in.
Teleporting Typewriter 