I heard your poem on the radio today
little children were crying and bleeding
bowing to your mighty power
I pulled my glass eye out
and rolled it down a bubble-gum sidewalk
three flies were mystically immersed in conversation
they were talking about you, of course.
How you fought off all the angry slaves
so we could all drink milk and hug when
the cheerios were no longer crunchy.
I stepped on a pile of you today
but my new no-stick nuclear shoes
kept me balanced and poised
for your next question.
I had to answer honestly
as all the satellites were
and the quiet drone
of your new found synthetic existence
filtered the last ounce of sincerity
in the world.
Now everything is happy blue
and darkness hides inside a solar flare
my chain keeps rattling loudly
inside this cold locked chamber.
All the hammers and shovels
were worn down to splintered oak.
I forgot what trees looked like
and when I pulled your plastic vagina
from underneath the dusty glass dome
it wouldn’t talk to me anymore
it dried out and shriveled away.
Now all I have left is a rusty nail
and two holes in my blood soaked hands.