cave///mountains of human faces
strange encounters within brick realms.
the extrenousness of government becomes apparent as they mumble along bumbling-footed to work and work and work and drink and drink and drink and throw up.
desperate///disparate handstyle codes in invisible ink across lifetimes spell this shit to me,
or, that is, basically
not so apparent, but god you hafta look, like, at, this,
the backporch of human history eroding at our will, beck, and call,
that fucker burning up in some indescribable mass yearning for the near ultimate stuff are we,
from hella layers flame
flame too being the thing where the soot builds clay.
(&) MAN GODDAMN
(&) DOG, WHATMAN?
that'll be the day
and that'll be the day
that I die.