Our Great Expectations

Concrete is a burial ground for animals

hazy impressions are the brains, steel fortresses,

Trading, dealing, making, selling, bidding,

The edifice upon which we are all sitting,


For the Flesh’s livings, they’ll do anything.

Flesh is a mass,

living on the fortress with no foresight.

No idea. They live on the backbones,

The backbones that creep from the concrete.

Green shafts of life, reaching for light,

Building, pluming up into an endless breeze.

What for?


So that legs can keep walking

  So that minds can keep earning

So that tires can keep turning

  So that life can keep burning


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