coolant in the oil
light on the dash
a brand new, top’o’the line, dying battery
flat mower wheel
no carport
gravel sinks
no talking about planning
no plans
money I cannot bring myself to spend—the risk! the future! the maybes!
for silly temporary things.
Nevermind the numbers on those pages.
Bonds, bounds, binding.
What goes up must keep going up
(That’s capitalism!)
Lemmings building bridges, mining pathways, drifting on umbrellas or plummeting to their deaths;
we thought it was funny to watch them die.
Pixels of ephemory.
Turn it off.
Cry over nothing.
FedEx stares at the house but can’t locate the pin on the screen, a whole system where we don’t exist. Despite the hundreds emblazened around the yard. Three hundred—no, four.
Mailbox, driveway entry, dark characters shouting against pale yellow siding.
But the screen says no, and so, off they go.
Split the world in two.
What you want to be fed to you
and the truth
Game over, baby. Insert coin to continue.
3-2-1
Press Start