Jared Le to has a cult. Patrick Bate man has a posse Andy and Andre are laughing in heaven Keith Haring is a resurrected ghost

The cartel disco dancers are playing Funkytown Gore A thousand generations of abuelas Making paper flowers.

Five dollar apples The wheat harvest is poor. Peanut butter is the darling of the apocalypse.

Spots have adhered on my flesh. An unknown horror Or seasonal allergies? Hordes of roving marauders Have turned the CVS inside out.

No bottles for the babies, the lakes have all run dry. No medicine for the children. The deer are wasting in the mountains.

The birds are turning sick, The soil has run out of minerals. The tomato plants are etiolating. Every bite of food a blessing.

Women are climbing into wells, Capital starving the horn of Africa. The weapons have screwed up our brains and our priorities.

A new generation Of collapsing people Freeing their children from the prison schools.

We wrote our charter and hid in our bunker But the soldiers Won't be here for months.

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