What is there to be found?

What is there to be found? 

To be excavated,  to be unearthed 

What is there to eat but the same old meat 

The same old production of the chicks and cows 

And the grind and shuffle of bags and machines 

There is nothing to be found except fossils of our mountainous shit  

The landfills are filling up 

People of different kinds are merging and separating and it is creating reactions but of the ancient kind and we don’t know what’s next. 

The next shock will not be a shock anymore, it will be a miniscule noise, it already is, a white noise of no significance. 

Cries and shrieks of people or cows are just white noise now 

Nothing is of importance is what we are catching up to saying 

I think the great balance exists  

But the scales keep shifting  

And nobody can really see the top of their heads that are circling in the same old grounds.  

How am I still here? 

Lurking outside the window of your home? 

How come I am still singing under your sinkhole in the depth of night?