The dance of the suits dressed up in the costume of clever scripted dialogue
Selling themselves as;
A fine upstanding gentleman
So successful that the busy-ness call can’t wait until off the train.
Perfectly robotic speech attaining high honors in the magazine of New York life.
One more quick call to set up a meeting with pals for happy hour
Set to the exact New England pace that has infiltrated the world.
Protein powders and power bars masquerading as food
and coffee martinis
Serving as the requirement for hydration.
Soul death and gravel white washing of authentic natural life.
Vinyl panels pretending at shutters and flickering water-showers greening the turf.
How far to go to be fed: no longer outside my door.
Drive through take-out along picket fences and stone walls.
Conventional food has become chemicalyzed GMO puke pink tomatoes while
“Normal” folks shun
Organic as the new yuppy-hippy corn movement and too expensive for my dollar menu mentality.
“Food that doesn’t kill ya” must
Be registered by the FDA for a not so nominal fee, while factory farm subsidies pay to poison our rice with arsenic and pink sludge our arteries.
Agricultural hijacking made legal and,
mainstreamed zapping the brain of human advertisers washed to belittle the nightshade: YES; the one that has not been grown in the Florida sand and fakely fertilized to imposter the deficit.
The science experiment we call food.
Bible belting advocates against our own best interest
The political genius of the century.
Don’t take my guns and leave me defenseless to diabetes, cancer, asthma and combustible water faucets.
Chop down those trees
The silent gods and goddess that do nothing but give us breathe
Valuing the cul-de-sac over
the babbling brook, wonderlust woods, generous garden and fabulous farms.
Quenching our yes for real life, while our ankles dangle,
Slushing around in the sludge we created robotically
oblivious to stepping outside to take in
the vacant lot that once tempted our vessel.