Present and accounted for, in most respects
Wandering aimlessly, from one point to the next

We keep track or lose touch
Become clever gray
before the rust

There's the radio
That's something we used to love
Something we learned to hate
Something we occasionally negate

Being chauffeured to the steeple
Itchy materials making us remember people
Barely impacting
Cold, but sustaining

The days when chlorine and preservatives
Kept our heads aflutter

Starry skies
Left for dead
Plastic entrails
Of great war heroes
Fried from toe to head

Disciples of mixing principles
The obsolete telephone calls
Nervous minds playing the chords back and forth
Proposing the next few words
Before they're spoken
Heavily breathed into the receiver

Sitting in the chair with chunky bits of foam
Leaking out like the freshest of wounds
She considers her large backyard

The woods, and the sounds made
Before the headset
And the gaping groans from the other line

"Don't we know each other?"
"Who do you want me to be?"
"Who would you like me to know?"

No one in particular
No one worth their weight
So peculiar