Augmented Reality
They raffle the windows
and clambake the walls
a la carte, deriving design.
Publicity people cover to order
not seeing from where it arrives.
They suckle aggressions
off uncanny bodies,
they prey on what’s already there:
the harbored discomfort
of being a person
who wishes they were unaware.
Yet, the earth in its shaker
avoiding the news,
conceals in one fowl soup.
The cattle’s more soothing,
every corner adjourned,
pacified cries with the croup.
Rattling over the burning of boilers,
miserly, ritual fruit, -
take and eat, broken for thee
milked, inexhaustibly mute.
[May 2017...]
internet bellyache 