The Birds Flying Low - A Secure Madness

As the ducks motion into nested,
Machine-like, connected threads
Upon shooting gallery rows,
Toy rifles begin to be lifted…
Shooters trigger dozens of blithe,
Popping exchanges -
The thrill-seekers shall appropriately
Wipe away their targets,
In whole or in part,
With an age-old, beautiful aim.
In cognizant awareness…
As the birds flee ostentatiously
Over and toward the horizon…

A violent storm or heatwave in the offing;

And the further futuristic status
Of horror -

The delineation of just means
And morals -
A fluid and rich disdain;
The distant crunch
Of a glowing tide…

Aggressive elites grabbing and gobbling
For the sake of an Earth-obsessed embodiment…

The science does not purport
To manage the alienation
Of requisite desires.
Nor does it pertain to known fact-patterns.
A disguise for the carbon metrics
Which a species on the planet
Averts in disgust can be
Neither negligible nor tangible
In its weight or construct;
An alien species from another world
Seeking to rule this planet
Would sense humankind’s presence
As stymied and/or grayer in tone;

And the people might wash the windows
Of their automobiles,
In attempting to refuel at a local gas pump -
To smokily engage in vehicle operation
During a normal, busy workweek…