Title: To the Chagrin of my Elders

each fragile, fleeting atom so daringly flung
into my iris
Hissing now in antisocial satisfaction at being the one who does not work.
Being the one who drives slaves on flying carpet.
I, who see the secret fabric, with intentional imperfections.
Aphonic bugles defocus the eardrum
So i lay aside for the lick so long and wide.
My veins are smug over your dumb animal ass raised so lovingly!