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What’s gotten into us is nearly boiling,
a kind of living portraiture.
The day & I are exchange signals.
Limbs of trees wanting to fall with the leaves.
A pretzeled putsch could be nearing.
Kamikaze owls rehearsing
like bulky barbaric cyber bombs,
immediately regretting their decisions,
like the surprising taste of water in a cup
that was thought to be tea. I find myself
on the ground, like Gulliver, into stone
I could be, the formation of gneiss.
Cluttered roads, as if to drive
takes needing password combinations.
Railway Age of “third party cookies.”

The rain, a slow drizzle; delicate to the touch,
the way yellow is comforting to the human eye.  
Windows of departure. Vietnamese greens.  
Autumn trees of chrome-like sapphire.
This Anti-vaccination Movement
“ticks off” the beaten path.
Now, overlook the flogged judge
with appendicitis of the tongue.  
There are only two ways to end a Haunting:
One: purchase software for eye-opening information.
Two: find someone with an IQ of 180 or better.