And the flying was not realistic.
The audience was parched until
The hint of public nudity
At the cast party. The male lead left early.

Meanwhile on television, for example
There are no longer reports of men
Wearing dresses and the owl of culture
Flies only at night, so tired

That the words repeat themselves
Like billboards on Sunset Boulevard.
Each day we don’t die we get older
And our clothing seems little more

Than floss and magic shoes. The hard shell
Of jealousies mutates, but the yolk remains pure
Even in little ladies during big wars
And old dogs cease their bark