Me and the middle-management are taking our things
and going home.
We rightly play by our rules
and because we play by our own rules
there are no others left
to play with us.
So we are taking our things and going home.
I’d say we’d been defeated but you can’t defeat a winner
so kudos for trying
but at least the fire is warm
and will last until your house has been transubstantiated,
to smoke, gas, marble, broken bones and burned flesh.
Sighs from distant green hilled cities
drown out our cares and tantrums
until you have no faith left in anything
but two quarters and a jukebox
at a diner
in the middle of a wasteland
of overly processed processes
and shiny distractions
that lead to detachments
and where we are going we’ll never know
and always care.