Copyriders

Moving along to new and fluttering heights,
that glitter and flicker like a flame
dancing to disco dressed in a candy apple spandex dress.
It's a dream world
punctuated by perfectly round moons,
clementines that release perfunctory scents.
A whiff of purpose
a dark castle hidden behind thick,
sausage fingers grabbing at oozing food photography
staining paper pink with tomato sauce.
A pungent lullaby sung by hired corporate word smiths
sending out soothing messages to a stuffed and satiated public,
red tongues in khakis
release collective oral gas,
a symphony caught in cardboard burger cartons.