when writing is inconsequential

stutter
stupor
star-crossed and stirred up
morning in the rain

this realism moves novelty
and statism is a gnostic endpoint
as we are
hoodwinked and unleashed
and all this one sided
and one minded nonsense
comes undone

collected and
reaching for substance
childhood is blown out
and rendered inert
in a spectacular burst of cynicism

i went to the summoner and asked
how does the solo hobbyist roam
these academic origins
navigating mid-sized labors
that are often are iconic
in their erotic offenses

no reply

looking for buddah’s one-stop password
to connect
then vanish forever
as hobos passionately personalize
a demonic toolbox
seeking to shutdown bishops of fate
and
all the movies
all the music
all the books
reek of tired ideas

it’s just too little risk
for this classical click
seeking to modify noble objectives
in three simple steps

hacking
in no particular direction
it’s all garbage
and it’s leaking out
in limbo
i think this one will remain
unfinished

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