In The Bioburbs

Under the hood, the coldwater pump
Lets the Monkey angels get us sick
Our flying flees and millipedes
Read our white count
And screen for the bug
The old fashioned physician treated bumps and bruises
Not hungry with tube feeding
But the new slumber party
Cancer can’t keep its solids down
We watch saints of popularity, rail thin snack on their Hollow legs
The hairless pairs of replicas dance and gossip
While at their feet are fighting fish
The upper half is pressing
Flesh-some compaign of the neurotic black heart
A vomit Competition
The autograph is a lap dance from the grammaphone No one will touch
Their priorities bruised, and without memory
They had to start turning away the ghosts
Of ignored parents like the old men who work the vending machines
Who’ve only asked to use the toilet
Plastic dresses ath the biotech frontier tonight
The pigeons are Continuous, their feathers burn toxic
The medicine animal is A misfit to the drum
Desperate to duplicate the whimper like a snapshot
Genetic jennies sip white zin and choose wallpaper
For the first boy crossbred with a sneaker’s new nursery
To sit Amidst change, a speak 'n' spell in his heart
Soon pacemakers Will be able to run for president
Or any creature with the proper papers
Until Detroit machinists, our laureates of the chariot…
Jesus Chrysler, cut me a break
Lay off the feelings and the spiders in the sink
And leave a depression in the wild
A missing man without A car alarm
Stuck in his knee or a pager in his palm