Stranded in between the markets of the world
I am a tomato among Agents of Orange
and there's no taste bud without a conscience

Three gazillions of seemingly random stimuli
gush away like gallons of wine
into the cross-cultural cortex of mine

And...

Our capacities of interpetation
are outweighed by the influx of disinformation
to the extent we try to stay reformed

And...

The history of ideas unfolds relentlessly
on the assembly line where I
work
with three missed calls
and two are not beknown to me

And...

I say you are the same as me

I claim, we talk, she climbs a ladder
They faint, we walk, he listens closely

Shrouding minds in tabloid storms
all hearts are sealed behind this song
peeling eyelids from windshields
our tongues are levitating above the smoke-trails
of burning get-away cars

eyes closed

now that there's not one
thing left to see
I might
just as well
stop counting