Where they hung the jerk / That invented work

His work is better suited / for panic attacks / than anything smacking of pride.

these parasitic hours sitting through the night

Free as black ants in a bladed line.

As Ello turned off the world she searched its jails and prison cells for Dr. Ferthus.

In Cokaygne food and drink are had without worry, trouble or toil. 

“They know what you’re up to,” said the Voice. “You’re going to blow the whole thing. We should never have trusted you.” 

‘Hot roasted pigs will meet ye,

“Lay down your labors, good worker. 
Put off your boots and gloves. 
Enter, and be among your comrades whole.”

We are in the future. Not too distant future. We’re not flying in a spaceship or anything. We’re in a big rig semi, with a huge cabin, like a tiny house. On a road that looks like I-40, but the road sign we just passed said I-3958.

Then a cock crowed, Cock-a-doodle-doo! The story is all told--Cock-a-doodle-doo!

My Species and I saw you from across the void and we really dig your vibe. We wanted to reach out to you so we sent you this email, all of you. We hope you don’t mind. 

I heard scurrilous things: 
babies with two heads
locked in the attic,

exploit, object. St. Louis as beeswax, resin

You, from inside your  
publishing house of  
unearned income,