Civileyezation

Streets bend back the right angled concrete
delivering delving to the sewer greats, the 
lead rats, the fallen hats. It's a historical thing,
memory, a pass to no one, full of bridges only
holding up shame. Guises diss masks, calling
spades shovels. What's a trowel to do? On this
park's surface, I think about ceilings, and the 
sky delivers me part of the moon. So earth-
centric, this lunar definite article attachment.
It's like a PDF that does not acknowledge that
it was created, originally, by radiation from the
sun. And a little original spin. The concatenation
of mostly spherical objects, that's how the heat
breath of the universe exhales, into some other
dimensional place. X the Y out of these axes and
discover a math of a different clover. Four! It's
an ode to more. More than three, more than
two, more than none. Never as many as one,
though. That's the biggest number in the future,
the opposite of pun: serious word usage, measured
and fee-based, obviously. Utilities will be billed
separately, and you will never own this language.
No second person will. Only, you guessed it, a
first. One! One again! An exclamation of certification,
of certitude, of cornmeal and ashes and jade. Do not
ask more than one question. Do not provide more than
zero definitions. Each defined series of letters will reveal
untrue things in a biography to be written two generations
after the death of your first cat. So plead allergies and stick
with dogs. And remember that all this humanity can never
rest until one person finally learns to see the rest.