flyers flutter, cling and clothe

something silent, wall is/was

fertile, seeing will of cull

and all over words, minds rove

(not to reference cliche)

but apiculture-like movement

rustling bits of hung-up paper

to reproduce an apt display

(all is futile, swallowing

dust and bitter fruits of flyers

"before the harvest comes about

we must become us"- singing)

hope someone to book my soul

photocopy it, in odd

flourescent orange tinge

to staple to the silent wall

before the harvest comes,

so to become us all.