Deaf to the Lens

We borrow sugar from the neurologist next door
We flip the contents of the room with a switch to the lights

We spill cream all over his walls to accentuate his black furniture
We invite the ice cream man inside and he begins chewing on the sofa
grunting approval

Let’s have a democratic party
he says
We all say
Yea

Taking turns we play charades
No one can guess
We are all trying to be Satan

Some of us are buried in the stuffing of the couch
We know the walls are a waste

We are deaf to the lens
But we don’t care
We all know the truck’s chorus by heart