There are a 100 butterflies out of sorts in what’s wrong watching even one or two spin like winter mediums, 
happy in the dirt, re-engineering their variety and persistence.
The collapse of spinning it better is.. no, the aim changed...

We can build something better. 
You can feel it drinking coffee from a can, its sticky metal heat, fun,  
seething too, proportionate to the open space.  
Indoors the steam is rubbed, worn and you’re mortified with ozone.  
The whole firebox glow ..  
yellow wallpaper engages on.