My walk through the suburbs I
Between rubble and construction-debris grows
THE NEW Fuck-cells with central heating
The television spits world into the parlor
Planned obsolescence The container
Servers as cemetery Shapes in the overlay shelf
Those born to cement Parade
Of zombies perforated by advertising spots
In the uniforms of yesterday morning’s fashions
The youth of today Ghosts
Of the dead of wars which will happen tomorrow
WHAT REMAINS HOWEVER IS ARRANGED BY THE BOMBS
