Not document

There's a girl waiting in a tree under an airplane
ramming through a cloud in the Carolinas.
Our telephones are eating through the air
toward each other. After all the religions,
after all the politics, there's nothing left to do
but let the oceans fuck us
and let time pull out our hair.

Grandpa doesn't fish anymore.
He looks sad in the livingroom.
Who's the bigger mess for president,
an uncaught fish asks.
The mirrors are not new,
but the rooms in the mirrors have changed.