this must be a joke
a punchline gone under-heard and under comprehended
maybe my irony is your irony no more
maybe the plastic ware really is the joke after all

because by the time i'm gone, and you're gone, the Earth is still Ours.
We Own It.

so let's, my demon friend, let's.
throw it down, stand tall on it's ear, on that soft spot that dips in so deep at the slightest pressure.

it's an elbow to the ribs, just under the slightly jagged line of sweat ever-so-noticeable

some days, it's a pit of anger in the fire-belly. the kind that sends an wagering fist tough into the drywall, ending with disappointment (the brunt of the damage goes to knuckle #3)