Living in the Background

The wet fragment keeps spinning
like a droll television rerun
playing in the background
behind a closed-door
with muffled audio seeping
through the cracks

a shabby mirror sleeps within my chest
squeezing the gelatinous organs
as if they were gummy clay furniture
till shallow breaths and faint beats
become each step into tomorrow

another faded billboard sign
to see on the side of the road
passes by with frayed edges
and half the message folded over
that the waves at the rolling vehicles
but the minimum speed limit pushes them on

doves land upon ant hills to snack
amid dandelions casting white parachutes
into the wind that's just passing through
as blooming yellow offspring
crack driveway while chemical pumps
keep spraying out the toxins

some edible flowers
were never meant to live long lives
amid the levity in blowing its plumage
across manicured lawns and barbeques
that build scrapbooks with etched dates
inscribed upon the moment captured

Cities were born to harvest as the sickies
mow down heads and heads
while the processed wheat is packed
into tacky cubed boxes
and the chaff pilled to the sides
but the wet fragment keeps spinning.