Hands down. We live on the ground, off the land.   
 
The culture caught up to our light sprinkles of sexuality.  

And we chew to 1 side, noted by 3rd genders;  
Superego abstractions hanging out in their white corridors  
 

Suggesting we’re still trembling from the  
 


Physical chew off, just a short chopper ride  
 

From the first bank and trade. It’s sprinkling again, adding to feelings  
With a so-tallied mother glossary, 1st-  
Order noncommercial phonemes pitted together into cognates  
 
Still coming to seed and full adornment,  
Half-audible ricochets, feeding us like a lawn.