Hold in
cough/illed
the rye has been captured
and our rewards have been distilled
although nothing has been learned
our dispositions say quite the opposite
an atrophied smile
roses are red nose
with glazed eyes sitting on top of it

sold in
a box filled with
more mold than product
lost in
the pollution flavored euphoria
of flypaper narcotic
I laughed at the joke
’bout the man and his imbalance
but I’ve become that man
never awake, always in trance
now it’s not so funny
when I’m the only one
who can breathe out and see the gardenia’s dance

how much
have we gathered from the half wit
just enough
to laugh at the ground as we sit
making amends with our inner idiot
the air possesses the only seeds that grow
and sometimes they float to places
they’d rather not go
wasted on pond’s surfaces
or caught on our tongues as we fell
sometimes the wind blows underground
and dandelions bloom in the never-ending meadows of Hell