Toil endlessly
for that sharp second of pleasure.
That shivering spark
lifting you
from the dreary concrete pavement
your cow-clad feet have shuffled down.
Take, take, take-
gulp ravenously:
some fleeting fix,
some zealous advertisement,
brilliant as a brand new sun
shedding beams upon The Cure.
The Cure of plastic,
of flimsy, unfelt gifts
that strain a masking smile on your face
and dust truth with a killing sugar-mist.
