no one’s leaving notes for you
in the paper that you pretend
to read

it’s all there
in black and white
standard fonts

the fresh news is miles away
being tracked and flashed to
you by satellites

but you crinkle it up
“this is all shit”
you say

they’ve filled your pallette
but you scour your carpet
for a new taste

and you refuse to love the sun
and stay in-doors
praying to your false idols

you believe in magic
like a child
and you won’t be hung for it
but you should.