Papier-mâché trees with cardboard trunks,
And starry lights
Attracting gnats in posh berets
That speak obnoxiously of French Ballet.
Steam powered busboys clear tables
With their steel-gripped robot hands
Singing songs of woe in binary –
They know you won’t decipher any.
Holograms of cushy chairs
Disappear as you approach,
Become a bed of spiky cacti
And poke you all-night with their lie.
The moon is visible for just two seconds
Before it’s blocked out with airplanes pulling banners,
And fireworks to conquer nature,
Enforcing merits of consumption.
Even wasps text one another
Sipping nectar maitais, talking politics,
Deciding where to find the next hot market -
So they'll invest in caterpillar futures first.
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