The only dirge, a lock.
Then genesis reached out from a blanket of sound,
Clasping us to its label.

The American wet dream
Nested in an approximate drain,
Gropes felt over a new trust.

A spasm of worry gets the nod
And we bite the capsule unconvinced,
Senseless and rebuffed by fortunes
Germinating unchecked by a rationale.

The great push,
Guiding us through uncertain vermillion strata,
Encourages us to linger, yet

Pumps us
Through concords of sexual death
And the avant garde.

Careworn logos stolen from binders of vehicular mandates
And a late game substitution. Never you mind.