You kill my spirit for yesterday's virtue,
For today it is the key to your madness.
Anything could have been, anything at all.

Don't run with plastic emptiness,
Go instead with his blessing of sharp
Metal technology in you,

Thereby absolving your sin
Of drawing his precious attention away
From things that matter.

See how "One with all" he is,
That he is ever others through his mouth,
On and on and on and on and on and on and
When they expire, their death is mutual.

I offer my salute to creation
With a dirty postcard,just what you'd expect.
I wait for a letter to come in the mail, but
Stiff with writer's cramp, the arm sleeps.