our speedway is lined with rows of glaring red
sift through the oceans of mechanics to reach
a definitive conclusion that offers you and me:
something unlike what has come prior
woven fantasies of gallants and beaus
tricking a cat may make itself out to be
a task for the faint of heart: but your-
guardian assures: it is not.
lampoon my confidence, shackle it with the
weight of indecision - oh to be a fleshy libra
unsaid blame is cast upon a vulnerable
animal: sole proprietor
ownership shifted in a second of rage
pound my hips, grate my bones until
i recognize the mistakes we have made
to get here
cheap refills and aching tailbones wake us up
attempts at waste management are met with
pity and nihilism alike; do we change this?
or do we drown?
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