ALIEN ANT FARM

A metropolis
between us glass walls, formic
art of consumptions.

Eyes barren within
like landscapes of the wasteful
dead as their highways.

From Central Park bench
Dogs walk folk on jogging trail
crumbs of passersby.

Spectacles' dark shades,
Soldier, drone, still hive alone.
They storm in silence.

Window of locusts
In view of our summer fruit,
cosmic flesh so blue.