We all come to the park, drones unseen by the President, going around in circles. The parents know the park is just the business of men, secrets are kept for external peace, their hearts are only seen through a magnifying lens. Children think that the park is a jungle, an adventure, but lame ducks scare them.
Going around in circles, the baby bird yawns, mother pretends to fly away, father pretends to fly back. Photographic images of people, in pieces, scattered along the pond, jogging to day-old ideas, the basketball courts sweating memories of past dreams, joyful dogs are better off than the homeless man.
Today is going around in circles laughing at tomorrow, going nowhere. Fountains scream like oil, our leisure time is spent spewing from underground. The park is quiet, the pond is black, everything black, there is no energy from the people, there is just unseen government, playfully playing poker, and we are the poker chips.