The Keen Teen Skip

«Wine and cake for gentlemen, hay and corn for horses
A cup of ale for good old wives, and kisses for the lasses»
I’m sick of keen eyed
Teens keying car doors
In the middle of the night
They won’t believe their
Donning dangling
Carrot cams
Youngsters today
Are not prepared
To buy plants
Or collect stamps
They won’t believe they’re
Wearing
Lead-lined pants
Pants
Pants
Pants
Keeping them inert
Like just a carrot
Can’t
Can’t
Can’t
Can’t
Aging in the space
Between two magnets
Face to face
Your house keys are cut from utter nonsense
From the ground to utter nonsense up
When the people factory shuts down
There is no mad fandangle
On the opposite ends of telescopes
In spotlights, in sub-particles of rocks
The petty douse of your death
Spread over light years awaiting
The impact of laughter
Diffuse through space
There is no search party for a star gone dim
There is no search party for a star gone dim
Are you prepared to give a guided tour of your planet
To something like God, to speak on behalf
Of all phylum, from single-celled to sapiens?
Are all your cells in agreement?
«The empty space between distant airs doesn’t care»