Humans are like mushrooms
Sometimes delicious, sometimes poisonous,
Here today, gone tomorrow.
Humanity is like mycelium
Forever lacing new networks
That persist underground
Long after the lives they pop up
As representatives perish
Leaving Putrid puddles on the earth
And ideas in the air
There are spores soaring in my spit,
What color are your prints?
Let me smell your gills
And identify by what you tell
Of your life in a story
Erecting monuments
When the going gets gory.