Mail order bride
Of Frankenstein
You mock the nature myth
With Internet precision

Waking early
Milking yourself of the excess

Five times a day at least
Something always comes of it
You just never get to see

Self soothe the urges
Your passion for lids

You don’t have to attend
Every funeral
You don’t have to pretend
To know
Asses to ashes
Eyes to glasses
Grasses to gasses

Making hay for the Haymaker
Fat kids in the waiting room
Twiddling their devices
Ruling by their thumbs

There’s more than the first time
And the second time
And the third
There are so many more times

Pick a target
Then pick an ax
A cucumber  to gring
A wallet full of salad

Let the wind blow the hair
From your beautiful forehead
We never see it the same way
We were never supposed to

That is why we sing
This is…