we are pointing fingers but you wouldn't know because New Orleans is filled with smoke.

the marshes are burning
blame the heat blame the heat
don't take it personally
if we die in our sleep

the next best thing

miles of napkins and loose change stretching
through dusty comic book dens
snake holes
and smoke-filled Pontiac's on the highway
the land is waiting for an earthquake
we've hit cruise control and checked out
settled in and we are quite happy
with our remote control garage door openers
the prosthetic limbs we used to refuse
are now trendy accessories

i've been thinking lately
about hyenas dying
and ants dying
and people

decades of
sitcoms our parent's loved
highly evolved worker ants and queens and those who drink beer
fags and queers and those who make children

To die on repeat
is very mundane
and the next best thing.

you
bottom of the bag
potato chip
big breast curved hip
beautiful bold semi colon
comic strip
tease