Feeling pneumataphoric, I sublate my          I’ve got over 73
long working days into more                 tabs open in my hot
spatially, cognitively                 skull right now, one of which
expansive forms,             on death-cult capitalism says There
i.e. 24/7.                 are more important things than living and

I agree with the whole of my man-o-war                and blue.
heart still beating its stung drum.              Life comes at you
Skeletal, diaphanous, I am               exponentially, so I binge
traversed by grace,                   on predicted and rewatchable
a windowpane,              disasters. I want to die for the world

slated to die this evening. I am its wan               and not just
anchorite at work in iso, one of               thrown by the light
its many tiny shadows               of our turned-out black star,
acting essential              the curve of whose imploding I will
at Central,             never let flatten me into sleep nor dream.