Reverse Darwinism

They print paper

We make copies

Lumps in their soup

Lumps in our blood

The Great Divide

Label me doomed

Tickle me tired

With your barbed tail

But she’s got room

To powder her nose

And he loves the steam

While the devil

Adds ten pounds

The sweet suck of the middle

The coddled and befuddled

Spawn

Padded walls

Will lead you to

A shallow grave-

Three feet under

Yearning for a box

While they dance in circles

Generations of

Insulin an Insulation

Widen the gap

Here comes the bomb

Numb is not a temporary state

But it sure is a comfortable place

We’re all on the lam

Don’t ask for more

Ask to return

To the source

They print paper

We make copies


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