There is no scene
No revolution of I don't care
All bullshit jobs
Birkinis & bikinis
because recognition will kill us
No middle way to worry
No alien vernacular
No varnish stain
winnowing its way upstream
We sprang to – to soil
life in the soft buzz
of the topical cave
Failing to learn each according to each
failing to embrace each shadow made
because despondency
because I mean who are you
some Girl band
pirate with that labored look
stolen at the scene of production
You're free to think
what’s unhoused and dirtier
at elitist Dog and Pony
subject to this
Kingdom of Pure affection
enjoying communal bath
Purity the echo that contradicts
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