Another Round

[Jae Mc Donnell]

Sure, we could ask the stars to map the sand.
Badger the air, "please don’t corrode our plans"!
But fuck it, lets chat about gene pools,
that intoxicated drool,
where sea sick molecules create fools.
It’s just another tragic symphony,
with fucking cracked, hollowed sounds of sympathy,
ringing like nostalgic chimney chimes,
screeching, "watch your head", "yeah",
as you crash into life.
Sure don’t we end as we mean to begin!?
Gagged coffin nails buried within;
we pull them out day by day, each one poignant,
fucking pointless, and progressively paid.
So will we sit quietly as another crop fails?
And listen closely as autumn exclaims,
“quickly, a kiss for winter, yeah, before we begin”.