Vernacular

coffee beans and machine guns
change we can believe in. blackness is an ideal
churches full of popcorn
mumbling generals in tank tops
nightliners piercing darkness
a dead dog’s candy eye, the tightrope of history
cigarette butts drowned in cold coffee
orphans and Eurydice in ironed T-shirts
earthworms tunneling underfoot
abandoned swimming pools, and an umbrella factory
you should really try the menstrual cup
the smile of a brand manager
mr. Detergent has been slain, now
they are making a tower out of his latex
welcome on board the swarm intellect where CEO toenails
look like Heidegger’s.
We are not out of the woods.