Spun a web between a lunar eclipse
    and the evening’s stretching shadows,
Concrete meadows thump mellow
    below a thousand foot trodden prison paths,
Beating trails ants would elate to,
    cutting paths antelope would bow a head at,
Out to catch raised neck hairs with a simple pinch
    of fresh air. Foxes will always figure out
Easy ways to fill their bellies. Bring out your prejudices,
    then fit them into whatever vices remain.
We can make a family from reality by putting happiness
    with anxiety while forcing them to breed,
The children could be sold to orphanages,
    put in hamster wheels and made to produce green energy,
Fished for pennies in a wishing well to throw
    the muddy coppers back in. I’m sorry.
I never found a genie. I never made a fairy tale
    or ever needed a reason to believe. Sense me?
Crush a budget and scatter it amongst a poor man
    and his hungry children,
We will win them or we will kill them. My paradise
    is all the advertising boards fading all of a sudden,
With full moons every night, and
    night times every noon. There'd be stars,
On the ceiling of every child’s room.
    Among a set of pre-recorded fantasies I leave this.
Fish'll always fight death. Magic will
    accompany kids dreams and we'll always fight fish.
Shining things may be the focus of a femme fatal but
    I’ve baked cookies and shoved the scent into a jar,
Now I’m selling empty jars by the dozen and
    I intend to purchase a fishing pole.

© Spy “Says” 26/3/8