baron of industry/

new barbed wire glittering in loops
like earrings atop a rusted fence
a spiral notebook stuck in the ground
that keeps me from your filthy treasures
plastics bags are empty
as they whip around your guarddog's legs
leaves rotten in the corner of the lot
icicles frozen to the corrugated gutter
don't come back until i'm gone
you won't want to see me rattling the fence
and the others like me
desperate for the nothings you have

grasping for straws, coming up empty... defenses have been breached. moaning through the shells of our past there are ghosts here too... bottles in the gully saying this is how we lived, laughing gas and boner pills... losing your edge. shot in the arm. golf course in the desert. pulling apart the fibers... teapots in the attic and ashtrays in the cellar. this version of the facts... this land is our land.

now is the time.
weather the weather.
devolve.
indulge.