THE CABAL OF THE PROGRESS PLAN


I think you know

Streets lined with cinnamon air purifiers

Registered cave dwellers
place their toes in the sunshine

It's the porch sermon, and a teaching certificate

Rehab for the little ones

Big blossoming window cracking to a bass guitar

I'd sentence the owner(s)

Hidden in the trees like the myth of the literary recluse

The dullest species

There's one message left for you in the message center

It's an alert

No belt

No sharp objects

The streets highlighted in red are in an error state

Incarceration with a former army recruiter

When the faces start caving in

Water your own damn flowerpots

***

Browning, etc.