Life's cornucopia,
mouth all a'gushing green.
Full, every feaster fades.
Fog framed in rain.

Sir, s'that a watch you wear?
Ma'am, with your bird feather hair!
You shells! You complacent snails!
Stoned, slumped and stale!

Are you starving?

This is a poison plate
cooked by the face run numbered grinning gates.
You can refuse, be saved.
Would it be nice to buy some time to...

sit and stare for days at stars and lights on satellites,
your eyes going dry but never quite
glossing over?
Though shades of place may lose it's sight
till your mindless,
why not be timeless?

Life's cornucopia,
spilling out, spilling out