their fingers fit snugly into the cranial cavity
an opening between the slumber and the sun-
(we might awake the knuckleheads
with an alarm of strident grace
and be ashamed by the use of technology:
if you called for smirking
there would be a dearth of noon,
office workers on lunch
would avoid the want and swoon-
these puffy drones praise dry-cleaning.
later at night dining triumphs
with one-ups holding court:
what? you haven't tasted this?)
the skull is ripped, a coconut just past due:
there is a studied grace as crackers dip the grey.