At our current astral position
in orbit
around uncomfortable subjects
not to mention disobedient
don’t stomp a get worse on the snout
we centered ourselves, grounded the
teenagers, micro waved hello our pot
pies and sat down for being swallowed
blubber bellied blue light globules
in the splash zone between the living
room walls
’round n’ round we go
where the dying starts
nobody knows
it all looks the same from up here
some of us want out
some get spit out
all the rest’ll
be digested
monetarily momentarily
everything comes out again eventually
everyone knows it’s not about the destination
question is
will you take the large intestinal journey
or the intentional one
two
three
four
we don’t need no stinking doors
five
six
seven
eight
there’s no such thing as it’s too late
Where have all the angels gone?