Pour hot tar on your heart.

Turn down the bribe of life.

Listen to the commands

of a robotic echo.

Let the scythe be the only thing

that moves.  Let the plates

beneath the continent

be decorated with human shit.

Celebrate random degradation.

Chew those pigeon feathers

with the meat uncooked.

Let the eaves sing

with the joy of poison rain.

May the stain speak

of stinking excellence.

May the pamphlets that

program disaster be shared

with eyes clamped open

all over the earth.