Reality miner

One thing you must know about me
Is that my brand is that I’m extremely product
And I love that I get to have
This choice
I arrived here all by myself
Because when I see
An unsleeved, plain can of tomatoes in a shop
which throws away more than it sells
I see myself in a hellish dystopic nightmare vision
Where nothing remains to be sold
So nobody knows what to buy



Just because you live through it doesn’t heal the wounds
Consume poisoned runes sitting watching the news
For a person who gets all views directly from polls of pew
Still under delusion which eschews clues into conclusions
which state false truisms to tune of: “all matter only splits into two”
Only takes words few for trust to renew
New doses of poison on spoon to consume,
think it’s fair to assume that this is what makes you immune

Wash ashore

Plastic mobile homes, pressed on canvases of buoyancy
The pigments paint a nightmare that I often forget
The pixels of my brain, figures occupied by hard sells
The amplitude of memories, tides zeitgeist detergent

Viagra blue plastic bags, ocean floored for infringement
Names remain separate, denounced by the originals
We remember what to call us, by recalling ghosts of forms
The chemical formula for memories, recalled for false claims

Syrup infused bright poisons, derived from making sewage potable
Why can I only see my face reflected in molten polyethylene?
Minds in taxi across mnemonics, designed to summon dispersed wisps
Through screens, senses weep into corpses, among remains washing ashore

Another pile

The homes you give me, incomes dispose dispositions positively
Dead pixels show coal, barrels roll to shift trash swiftly
From one container to another, find a way for plastic to smother
Dive in two bedroom dumpster, those who produce it seldom suffer
Biodegradable? Mobile dirigible heading where high hopes incapable
Regard self irreplaceable, no water potable, blame generational
Oil spill on pacific trash heap, upkeep cost should finance cheap
Fund for more flash sweeps, step up the cash steeps, above smog-ash-acid leap
Effects outlast line of product, compost composite pleather wallet


No man is an island, except pacific trash heaps
I am surrounded, accept illicit plastic sheets
Pile it up, compact it, push it in a neat stack
Combust, use-and-throw, underwater deep packed
Fish feet rest trapped in breathable fabric mesh straps
Extract the regressed crap to re-dress those who run laps
Deep blue old plastic, new synthesis, boots foot cartilage cram
Outlast tales, fables, claims, lifespan of your clan
I’m not a garbage-man, I’m garbage, man