i just like my dishes clean thats all

Who cares about the temperature in a tornado
the second the spoon scooped out
the flavorless morsels off of our mother
and what sink if any they'll fall into (if any)?
its all just a garbage disposal after that anyway.
and who needs the sweat they paid with to stay?
or maybe they all make the dish sweeter
no matter how it overflows and messes the table.
maybe the mold from the milk on the placemats
saves the kitchen from the whisling of the winds
on their way to other houses
Who cares about the pigs
that have spoiled the "breadbasket"
turned it to mold
with the same color
mother reserved for the trees and frogs
in the form of pathetic little sheets
children have soul their souls again and again and again for?
the little sheets have been held before their snouts
leading them through the glass
Who the fuck cares about the blank notebooks
feeding the fires we have heard so so much about?
"they're burning the cake!"
"they're scorching the house!"
doesn't it keep us warm just the same?
the wheel's treads are wearing too thin to imprint
fresh tracks onto the road of us
so we'll always find the same patterns.
so why fill the street with the same lines
why not just plow it clean and have a fresh clean slate
you can remember the beauty of?
why not?
because the ones with the answers never get to ask the questions