Working the System in the Soul-ridden Farms,
looking for love lost in stranger’s arms –
I watch someone who kind of looks like me,
have their thoughts plucked off in notable reverie.
Needles attached to their arms and legs
prick softly like the fangs on a spider’s head.
Miss Black Widow of mass eedolisation
carries out her job with admirable sophistication.
I stand hopeless – they stand smiling,
what a historic day for pragmatic frying!
Scent of skin leaves me empty-stomached,
remember that roast we had last summer?
A Chardonnay daze of stung, stricken tongues,
one hundred eyes gaze and tighten their lungs -
from fearful white to powder-hot, blood-shot:
I want a part of this,
do you not? Sign your name and just to be sure,
marvell in the idea of whose idea this was before.
Little switch flicked up –
ZAP ZAP ZAP!
10 cents a pop, made a deal with God
that the Dreaming man would be the
last to drop.