4.21.21

​

Black beatles mowing grass

when they don't need to.

You and me tryna rest.

The dust burns toast in our throats.

Choke out a plea:

Can't there be a minute

  of contemplative silence

without being watched

  by cops peeking out from 

in between white trucks.

  Sticking out with neon vests

but mixed into the scenery.

SImple, normal, status quo.

Are they informants,

do they already know

  we know their secret?

   The mangled signs sticking out

     in the scenery.

Caution: poisoned water.

But ya'll put it there!

Industry thinks it's fine as long as

a sign reads loud and clear.

   We do not care.