Paper Straws

The clouds are a bowl of appropriated

fucking poisoned oatmeal

on sunken hues

of navy blue

and carbonated so carbonated teal

Sucking us further always further into

a storm of which there is no relent

one of fire and flooding

and broken Earthen bones.





But what does it matter

you gotta live your life right?

Drive your car

suck on the lactating tit

of craven consumerism

and nothing beats a factory farmed steak

Right?





Paper straws

You gotta save us

please

we ain’t gonna do it ourselves.