a toast to parades. I feel the noise.
the awkward setting arranged to let one stare
unmoved, watching life behind fences,
and catching free candy.
a movement of time,
like shitting on the street but with flowers,
or plastic cigars
shitting where ever they feel like it.
people dress in franchised clothing,
rented, appealing to fever-
colors, bent by the Sun and group think.
everyone waves. i see you. look at us now.
its fun because its true. its fun because
it doesn't last.
the imagination, the power to speak,
type, create and walk using just two
appendages is what separates us
from them. yet sometimes i'd trade it
all for the ability to shit and fuck where
ever and whenever.