so what
all the attempts
to hold your eyes' look
void and still
have failed
we do still own
horrendous stocks
of prometheus liver lookalikes

so what
we couldn't tune
the cybernetic halberd
to the moving walls
we didn't even get a chance
to hear the nippleseekers
passing by

it seems
we ended up
with constipated buddha ears
but just one mouth
eager enough
to seep some joy
from dipping
everybody else's past
in acid to relax

it seems
all this reacts
to gentle pattings
on your back
as if it were
a daily matter of awakening
to sleep
a simple need
to need
some doctrine to attack

the beehive instinct

of weaned fingers