Fed Up

Remember the days when we could complain about the skyscraper steeple with all the marketing people? When it was boardrooms of lined pockets one-dimensionalizing the human touch? Those days before a screen was a basic necessity--or at least convincingly sold to us as such. I'm on an unpaid internship with myself--the ever-green naif watching how a self gets sold. Just add resist and grow giant weary of fitting day's mold. Got no key card to that bean-stalk brothel of glass-- not this puttin-down stones, well-mannered whore. Whoa Jack, can't take it any more: we who remain child souls are scheming the Last Roar.