clutch
the amazing kreskin
In the raining park the chessmen play, The faithful atheists refuse to pray, The steam-works weep, the addicts do not care, Crowd of cold people stand by and stare  The garbage eaters, their many retainers Come to collect all the foul remainders The smoke hangs heavy, the wrecking ball swings In the clockwork of a collapsing thing  Wasted plastic empire's golden age, chemical wedding Citizens in their refineries cheer the nuptial bedding The hourglass is turning  On a shore of iron, cutters, and clippers Paper, rock, rock, paper, and scissors On a road of skulls their story moves on It's a bumpy ride and very, very, very long  In the blue sky the seagulls fly over garbage. Are we the ocean? Are we the desert? Are we the garbage? Who's to say?