Loungers present their hips for suicide.
Typical Americana, lawn furniture
Censors flesh in stripes
And organizes a sunburn
To trail where restrictions flourish.
Different architecture disguises
Front of the house aspirations.
Lawn gnomes posed in angry side-eye.
Doormats covered with generic clever comments.
And love. Belongs above the oven,
For Hell must be quite the BBQ.
At the bus stop, weeds align the sidewalk cracks
And transfer their seeds to laborers
Solidifying the plant’s doom,
By walking on
And getting to
Where they’re going.
Sets and projects
Its purple prison walls
And promises to be humanity’s prisoner
Until boredom becomes the norm.
Shadow breaks as the bus drives away
Everyone is left to stare at their phones
As if they had nowhere else to look.
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