internet.

we are like flies on a trash can.
the syllables of a loud, slow, melancholy sufi song.
dry leaves, withering, falling as autumn approaches.
morning rain. sad, cold. and pink.
the seconds hand of an old wristwatch.
indifferent. like sisyphus. or angry perhaps.
we are the water, that is falling.
in the highest waterfall of the world. now.
or the ends of a deep blue sky.
stereotyped as beautiful. inappropriately of course.
the monochrome orgasm. that pervades everyday.
everywhere. everyone. tired of its ubiquity.
in standing alone. on the deserted bridge. holding it together.
we are the dead. waiting for a life.
while we make fun of the other dead.
and talk of morality.