"You are tired, dear" and "Tool-faced"

From living the life; the one You pined for and you Cried for, beckoning Being into want breathing Catching the wind. But now Each night feels like the end As all beloved yesterdays once kissed To lead to you Collapsing on your bed, rehearsing death Of satiating. Meditating On the swooshing sounds of traffic You crooned a tune I thought I knew Are you tired, dear? Of the layman’s luck that brought you here?

You should update your politics or quit Tabouli’s been a potluck dish for twenty years You pillaged the moon; you think we’re still scared Of aliens? The native sits On the pavement, watching the rabbit population Surge every decade since colonisation.