What spiraled into the

Accessing the rally point…

 it’s important that context—

here we go. Would have chosen a longer fuse…

  Material proof of these new paths, a new

Absurdity to murder the start of the sales

Pitch—HA, I’m in stitches—at the rebirth. New Goal?

Rewire every brain to see the truth of it, get

A few hundred thousand every decade but

Loose the same at greed’s precipice. (this is a way to dream…)

New from the east. Hard to digest this gun

Jumping, philosophical ego bumping, hard to

Shake the occasional disparity in this vessel,

Soothed in the judgment, oblivious? Yes/no

Shrug kind of glow. Rage seats the motivation—

Ideal, loves failed and all, hates hugs, swings

at every bug, prone to conversationally pulls of the

rug. Some say that’s what the I.Q. do. Fits

only the most alien tune to bop with just out-

side human frequencies—

Welcome…

Let’s get creative, go native (means we lead minus the hate.)

And bleed the suffering, first world, relax, to

rule out the outer, the false. We are the

Children of the Sell-Out Rubes.

Nightmaric reality, blah, blah—no time for that... you get it.

Skipping the clerics for the reality

Shifts in a spliff buzz and the acid fog (is that just me) or

The trippy, lucidity of the ultra existing, (your day, my second...etc.)

The truth is always weighted. Slim and

Dense, being and nothingness needs a

Better—different kind of structure. (One without form)

Stop leaving what out?

Generation doomed in Love? A fair bit of

Poison hosing us down. Over knowledged

In shit colleges, collapses in slow motion, learning curve

kin to more dead,

And a fight for gym culture makes the

Most sense of all of this. Welcomes all

of bigots and sinners. It’s an endurance

climb this round. Signs of delay, how close

does a shave have to be. (Are the periods purposeful?) Star maps read

looking down from the space station, tidal

alignments can’t be understood. Every

astronaut knows, but with no clear

hypothesis to form, the twinge that makes

the forever “darkness” barely a background

concern, the silent…noise…remains…and back up they go

Lucky.

Turns a nightmare into a philosopher/scientist/

psychologist, gauntlet.

                                        “Who’s got notes???”

Living.

Let’s call that a stanza. Overthink the

Gap, be the sap, drink the grape and

Die slow in the corpse lap. Barely knew them...

Too many eyes for this face, for

These public areas populated with emptiness

that proves, too great for the populous. (Who?) Rooted in the

Between, our foil, (for now) but I look

Funnier when I flail so. Glider of the

Mountain landscape, inclines put in line

By the bolt of stomp from the inner ancestor’s

Claiming of the skate punk version of one of the

updated deities. Strider effortless on the

sand grit, bitter winds, pays pain

fines double, because the broke wrist don’t

need to bend right to boneless into King

Bulldog’s pipe. Middle finger forever fine, cast

Or not.

No blinder intelligence skipping through these

Green-ish lights, fiddlers of the flow state.

Mystified daily life. Please don’t believe me.

Guided by another one of death’s novocaine attempts.

Confused? Now call it confidence, going all Thomas

Wayne—Bruce was stillborn in this one?... pretty,

People to die in the alley for nothing, wasn’t

That beautiful. Or maybe that bat goofy

Shit morphs into the actual point if you want.

Written by others who got it and whiddled it to PG-13,

Is death the exhale worth the wait?

Seeks the journey after the mascot for the

Credit card lengthens the line with more

artificial idiots. But in the meantime,

Too fine for the tricks belonging

To the closed trade routes. Winks too

Consistent for me, I’m a different kind

Pirate plunderer in the Skyline that

Clears the bridge. Still more of a

Leisurely Walker until the tickets clear.

Knowledge stalker, feeling stays mutual.

Fuck a future.

                    Why

                              Bother.

                                        (period.)