wine, top spilt wouldn't buy the notion of cups to our tusk shells,
bus to private beasts.
we learnt web design from the wrong spiders,
thumbing our worst sites in ambush for sleep.
out there, soldier ants trade pact with world peace.
snails weaved their spineless bodies into a fork duel,
that abates with the silvery flash of knifes & chopstick.
here denies gold the luxury of a pale sun,
asterisks to book the stars for the slated now, making space lords out of our loved ones.
queer as it sounds,
couples take cats for next of kin,
& bring their sons to see to their litter box condensed with milk & victuals,
& primordial plants you'd be so drawn to hoard some for bath salt & palm Sunday,
and share with the chewed garden and hairpin bend on main slum.
we all have that one pet keen on deforestation,
ripping where it did not sow:
a leverage on our honest quest for meals, riddled by throat chores.
the ambience of rusty green,
trimmed to sphagetti straps.
say a global warming, & the world is hot naked.