In things

I'm sitting here staring at the invisible arguments
between people who have never met,
I'm stirring here adding patina to the washboard of mind;
Pouring salt on my copper and pissing on it
before I imagine a blowtorch and all that will do,
Light me up, smoke you,
Eat Darwin's favourites and leave the chickens
for everyone else,
Shut your hipster,
More delicious gobbledygook never to deconstruct,
No analysis.
Only excessive amounts of good things.
No question.
Only nodding smiles with pigtails bouncing carelessly on shining breasts.
No Argument.
Only bobbing heads in row after row of single filed-ness.
Don't touch the perspective, thank you.
Ignore the growth.
It's just a blemish.
The only time now is party time.