Watching the people flock
To the Los Angeles food vendor
Is like watching the cockroaches
Swarming across the stairs.
The sizzling morsels,
Greedily devoured by
Greasy fingers and hungry mouths,
Are like crumbs for starving pests.
Oh, there are polite ones,
To be certain. They drift by
At a distance, with calm aloofness.
But the pack is like a mob,
And would turn on you
In a heartbeat, if it served them.
The screech of brakes
And the roar of horns;
Deafening to the average ear,
Remind me of our own insignificance.
That we are, at the heart of us,
Just another swarm of insects
Infesting the cracks in the world.
Our world, as we claimed it.
Though we have yet
To claim responsibility for it.
Oh hey I’m on vacation and can’t copy my normal stuff here.
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