i am afraid of a linear world with
no curved ribcages and flat lines over hearts-
we are time, we are time, there is no time,
and the bird in the clock is screaming and screaming:

you are nothing!
you are nothing!

i don't like the penny eyes to match the
dollar skin,
i don't like the music to drown my empty ears
of all colour and feeling,
it's burning a hole through my face.

diligently bound into conformed, contorted books,
now with easy-to-read-print!
we are advertisements with feet, selling tragedies
with every pore we have.  
stories of 'you'll love me, won't you?'
to keep us afloat in the world we
imagine to be filled with
water and great whites and squids;

we drown with two feet on sand,
we breathe until we die,
we breathe or else we die,

my tongue is burnt with the yellow bird, screaming and screaming:

you are nothing!
you are nothing!