Funny how these days, with the speed and density of information being the way it is, the ones who are consuming are often those that are consumed.
And the creators,
The free birds,
Pock-marked old guys,
They’re the ones standing in empty fields,
catching the wheat as it rambles off the cliff,
burning the world down,
setting and re-setting existence.
All of them shedding their down in autumn,
while the rest of us are
engulfed in flames.