SOMEBODY WORKS.

We inhabit an awkward place,
Occasionally unknowing,
Recognizing any face
Except the one we’re showing.

Filled with unrelenting gases,
Covered with fine filament,
Running scared of sacred acids,
Speaking through a vent.

Colour blind and sound impaired,
Tasting, snorting, touching less;
Should have kept it below stairs,
Instead we aired the mess,

And smiled away the christening
Of un-sinking vessels,
Pure, putrid, glistening,
Fanatically guessing.

Searching, never quite believing;
Quiet beliefs of some age old.
Questioning and mass deceiving,
Use by date on which is sold.

And soiled and felled on cruel seas,
And gales with strange migrations,
Spilled and brought upon the breeze
Of under age elation.