If Bovine Could Fly

Scratching at the unpainted surface of a tired melody
Half truths and full lies entertain themselves in heartfolds
Who is the dog that barks his every fleeting thought
without careful contemplation
whose insincere consideration begs for laughable condemnation?

A wipe at the face and halt. Inhaling stale air
marks mere attempts at determination and they
pretend cirrus clouds and radioactive demons are but distractions
in an opaque painting of a lackadaisical raison d'être

Yet freshwater etches a fresh scar on ravaged skin
and leaves unprinted harmonies for the homeless to pick
Wondering -
No wondering.
Reaping ideas they tried piecing into a Picasso frown that'd
theoretically turn upside down if bovine could fly and
brush off their shoulders like
inconvenient dirt
thinking we'd all laugh ensemble

But I refuse to accept dysfunctional bombs and saccharine pity
from those who think not of what they are.
Surely a mind such as mine might understand.