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.