but aren't they all random?
Wednesday, July 28, 2021
can not be bought off
by hot puffed breath
and rubbing of hands.
It's perfectly symmetrical,
with no unevenness within
in centers of off-center weight
to pull and shift with favored
spin that settles any settled way.
This die's mind was made up
at birth. They made it and they
kept the mold. Its sides and
surfaces are worth precisely
even facets, squared in perfect
and indifferent truth: of nothing
said or chosen first. This die
won't know until the physics
tell it to, and it won't add
a hint of lean, subjective
draw. But is that even
possible? Can such a thing
be in control? For look!
Each side has little scoops!
Each dotted with a drop
of white. But: each side has
a different count. Now: all
that weighs, however light.
It must throw off the calculus.
Or: what was done inside this
thing to subtly offset the count?
The one side must weigh more
than six, precisely by the added mass
of five less scooped-dot negatives.
so long as we don't know, can't
calculate upon the fact of tiny this
and missing that: this die is fair.
This surface: is it flat?
I've been up for hours in my dreams
making up for wasted time
making such discoveries
and other things as shall be mine,
much as I am wont to do!
Waking hours waking days,
and uses I have put them to -
except, perhaps: a higher grade
than usual and everyday.
Not the best I've ever been.
Just a happy consciousness
of being on a streak, a roll:
the zone where muse and vision sit
and flow and aim in such made things.
Comfort in a pushing past.
Familiar always, suddenly.
Surprising always. Gratitude.
But I'm asleep. The joke's on me.
Tuesday, July 27, 2021
Every girl on instagram
I know, and every woman too
and even every creepy dude
is making camera eyes
It's pouty sexy
from all sides
in he-beef chic
that's what the app
In fact, this
is all perfectly
for this particular
planet and nano-epoch
If trees had knees, would we climb more
or less of them? If trees had legs,
but rooted deep - would we
be more or less nervous
to work our hands along and in,
and stick our toes in clefts
and push and grab our way
up shins and thighs, drawn up
towards hips - would we
breath sighs and blush relief
to find our arms around the waist?
Now jerking, scrambling up to arms
and shoulders, perched in safe embrace?
Or would it seem too much
like imposition to presume
Or would it only motivate us
onward, upward, finding face?
Saturday, July 24, 2021
love is overrated
pretty much your whole
back on it,
you can see
the errors fundamentally.
The expectations so dashing and dashed,
how cocky you were you fool.
You can see.
Or looking forward
to it with an electric jump,
or wry eyes and fatalism, or
so bled of hope you can't see,
but you carry a deeper imprint
every year. You don't need to see
what you can't stop feeling. You
know not to get your head in
too deep, and with wise eyes,
regard your past mistakes.
You'll be sure to do them
differently this time,
you've learned, you know
that love is overrated. Except
every moment you're in it,
once doubt is swept away
and despite yourself, you
can't believe it. Can you?
It's too good to be true
just then, is part of the problem.
The other is, you've kind of come
to know for sure. Love is overrated
eventually. Except this time
Wednesday, July 21, 2021
“We are the sovereign lords
of it. We alone have mastered
the artificial and uncanny ability
to FLY - which separates us
from all the other living things
except bats, and see what we’ve
done with it! Why, we’ve flown.
All over the place! It’s crazy how
we dominate. Oh, true, bugs and
stuff - this is lower-order tool use
for sure. See how easy we eat them
for proof. We are the unnatural and
self-majestic sky-flying motherf*ckers,
“But Skylar, what’re those silvery things?
We hear rumors they sucked Pelican Bob
into a wingmouth in a time of legend!”
“Did not Pelican Bob bring down the Anti-Bird?
Let’s have no more myth and metaphysics, these
legends have their place frightening the hatchlings.
They are fables.” “But we can see and hear them!”
“They are atmospheric phenomena.”
"We've seen them on the ground!"
The hated lawn, ornamental
shrubbery and other plants
so loathsome and pitiable
as to need human tending: stunted,
propped, subjected to innumerable
irregular mass decapitations
and savage prunings
by a furious maniac
- the price they endure
for their questionable
privilege of domesticity.
Tuesday, July 20, 2021
There's no solution to any of this.
So far away from whatever's bliss.
Innocence taking the greatest hits
and forging ahead as ignorance.
Naïve or jaded, falling to bits,
or holding together in aching
cracks. All of the facts are piling up
to falling down, and everything
fits into many lacks. But,
and see the gleams.
This is the same world,
however it seems.
It's all stretched out now
and falling in. There's nothing
to do but end and begin.
Ice is water you can't drink.
But so is steam, and so are clouds.
And so are seas. It makes you think,
water's not too drinkable! Considering
by parts and whole.
don't really add much
depth to life's broad course.
But passing over, washing
through, you might as well
just sip a few and try the taste.
And drink your full for now,
and let the rest just flow,
or sit, or spill, go
otherwise to waste.
Monday, July 19, 2021
Shamelessness is dangerous.
That aimless inhibition prompt
lays snares of consequence and guilt
to trip us, everywhere we'd want
to take our valor for a spin -
and leave discretion's bare, bereft
behind at home! A-wallowing.
For shame! Best be behaviorless,
lest valor's indiscretion wrest
some veil aside, and all be known.
We'd never rest from labors, then.
To soak and scrub escutcheon clean
- a labor which we know is vain!
But that is how we've always been,
to our acute and chronic shame.
As day moves its course
through drifting marks
intended to class
and to organize,
divide and define
our fits and starts: we wake
to a sense we cannot cognize.
As day moves its course,
of distinguishing features
in weeks and years,
of moments and months,
the moment is now:
come bed your fears.
But we don't know how,
so we'll never know when.
It's time now to wake, or
to sleep again. To eat
all our dreams, oldest-first
and complain of the stale
in the bread, and the mold
someone broke, long before
we were born - so that when
we grew up, we could find
all that fits in one's head
To explain, understand
and defend why we'll have
to be dead.
Sunday, July 18, 2021
Audacity’s veracity not trying to be bold
But bold words call for bold times, friend
- and some truths must be told
I don’t presume that you would care,
it’s all the same to me.
Not wearing any underwear
- or even pants, you see.
I never get presumptuous
unless I’m about to get, get
Intrepidation is my style
encouragement, less so.
I’d rather you intrepidly
go anywhere you know.
Intimidation is for wimps
- who wants timidity?
Be bold as brass, and do your best
- it’s all the same to me.
I never get presumptuous, etc.
Saturday, July 17, 2021
That's a lie. Honest review
of my emotions in the moment
suggests I love it. What I hate
is finding out
it was over nothing.
You see: in panic,
Instinct and intuition
are firing all cylinders
at solutions to the same
usual question in the ol'
"What do I DO?" routine.
Full of sound and fury relatively
empty of sense, reason and judgment,
signifying potentially everything
at stake, anything can happen
if you only panic right - on
a canny instinct intuition binge!
We got this, haven't we?
It's exhilarating, with a sense
of dread and doom and rising
to meet it: pluck and what-the-fuck,
I got this. EAT A DICK, PANIC!
So in the moment, I'm kind of
vested in the idea that my panic
is about something. Worthy panic.
Worth the rear to rampant, canny
defiance and bristling tactical arrays
rotating into and out of position
all over the place, dithering.
Disarrays, really, but intent. Intense.
Paging mister melodrama, crooning
that old #1 hit of his, "What Do I Do
(PANIC)?" weaving and panicking,
panicking and at the same time, weaving
- working furiously at that warping,
wefting, shuttling loom of his, weaving
tapestry of response in brilliant hues
and fine detail, responsive to the vast dark
shapes looming more suddenly
than was polite.
One knows it! In the moment, one
knows one might be! What daring
gall and nerve we have, we who
panic. All over nothing, though?
What a post-panic letdown. Where's
the triumph we risked so assiduously,
dared so boldly for over nothing?
One wants one's panic to be right.
Don't be a teen
Don't be a teen
We've all seen reports
and evidence. We've all
seen the special episodes,
the movie plots,
the behavior of teens
that made us wince.
Don't be a teen!
Don't be a teen!
So just this wince, this once
just don't. Step nimbly past
that awkward stage. Society's
afraid of teens, despite
we say they're all the rage.
Just be a kid
Just be a kid
when you're too big
to pass for child?
Take one big look
around, big step.
No running wild
Friday, July 16, 2021
I bless your larder and kitchen and cupboard.
May they be overflowing with choice,
'til you can't decide deliciousness
- until some inner, impatient voice
grabs the next thing it sees, and fixes it up,
and lingers it so deliciously down.
May all of your appetites find sate,
and smile redeem each privation's frown.
Thursday, July 15, 2021
I got your year in rock right here, bay bay
I came to be the one who’ll stay
The Anti-Nice: the opposite
of what you meant when you talk sh*t
I back you up against the wall
because you’re indefensible
you lost the last best chance you had,
you can pray Good luck,
you can Ugly it up,
I’m the Bad.
I’m the Bad.
I’m the Bad. Get
Conspiracy is on my side
Step to me you get swept for a ride
They’ll lock you up. Who held the key?
Don’t put yourself through hell for me
I’m so mean I mean it all
My soul is indestructible
You only did the best you could
God he is great, Jesus is Good,
I’m the Bad, etc.
Wednesday, July 14, 2021
I'd be an antler.
Sexiest antler in the world
and if you were a tree,
I'd be a twig or a branch or a limb,
sexiest twig, branch or limb
in the world
and if you were a bird -
I'd be a feather.
Sexiest feather in the world
and if you were with me,
we'd be together.
And I'd be a part of you
never apart from you
the sexiest part of you
in the world
and if you were a rose-bush
I'd be a petal.
Sexiest petal in the world
and if you were a road,
I'd be a pebble,
sexiest pebble in the world.
I don't mean on top of you,
I'd be embedded.
Sexiest bed in the world
And anyone could ask me
where this road is headed
'Cause I'd be a part of you
never apart from you
the sexiest part of you
in the world
And if you were real life,
I'd be pretending.
Sexiest daydream in the world
And if you were a song,
I'd be the ending.
Sexiest fade-out in the world
And if you were gone,
I don't know where I'd be.
Sexiest missing in the world.
And if you were wrong,
I know which part I'd be.
Sexiest excuse, justified
insanity plea or otherwise
exculpatory factor in the world
Sunday, July 11, 2021
I was sitting outside on the patio
when from the distance, across
the common depression (flood
basis) I heard a staccato horror
movie scream. It was human
but barely, all jammed together
into one word: callmeback!
It sounded like the scream
of not the victim. But
the monster. It was
scary not scared.
"CALL ME BACK"
a very different voice
sang-song rang out,
in long alto notes.
After a long pause.
Farther off. Then finally
like a whisper directly
in my ear
call me back!
It was really a high, hoarse
holler but from so far away
I don't think I will
Friday, July 09, 2021
Catholics think fish are vegetables.
There's a reason for it - Jesus didn't
come here for the fish after all, plus
there always is - but somehow come
Fridays in Lent, I'm always eating birds.
Missing the find, feathered, friendly
distinction. Birds can't be animals -
there are too many of them. "A few
fewer wouldn't hurt," I purr,
feasting fancily fast, grinning
like a canary with whiskers
than quotation marks. I mean, I never have
much doubt on quotation marks, but it’s all
instinct at this point. This particular case
must've been some teacher or professor
who disliked the thing on arbitrary personal
as time went on,
that opinion crept over the mental fence.
Mutated into a rule.
This is why I abhor rules,
and abolish all obedience I cannot abide
by never making habits of it or them,
since - why would I?
They don't coincidentally meet
some inner need that pleases me.
Which is what rules and obedience
are for, correct?
This particular case
was never a rule I respected.
One of those I’d observe in passing,
nowhere else - and then, only because
I'd already done it! By the time I remembered
I'd decided to disobey the damn thing,
run the same gamut
or is it gauntlet: they
never pop up during moral
dilemmas, which don't occur.
So I never have chances to seize
my ancient and brilliant array
of principles, compiled and admired
in starry-eyed ideal-eating youth, someone
would say one of their principles. My eyes
would shine, and I'd beam at them "Yes,
that sure could take the kinks out
come hard decision time!" I could
totally see how it could! It was a
lie! A false confidence job on me
by me! There I was, patient collector
and admirer, racking them up idly
and sorting them in order and reorder,
until years, decades later I looked in
on them and saw they were dusted thickly
with unuse. And I started and I stalled.
And I started again, wracked and riddled
my brain, but I couldn't recall
one single instance
where even one had intervened,
nick-of-time, as they're supposed to.
It's what they're for!
Apparently (best I could work out at the
time) I am too thick in the moment,
immersed in all factors and concentrating
way too hard for the idle thought to rise, "Hey,
maybe some shit that has nothing to do with
this moment could be just the trick?"
I bet if I ever did do that, what I'd get
would be some bullshit
"grammar" or "manners" rule
some professor had foisted off on me!
Which knowing me, I'd be just perverse
enough to deploy, but
it wouldn't exactly fix
It's why I refuse to obey.
Only observe. Or in my best
Tuesday, July 06, 2021
What did you always used to do?
And now you don't. And it's killing you.
Who did you always want to be?
And now you don't.
Anyway, you can't. It's gone up ahead,
no way to see.
Why must we always be these ways?
Unable to hold, unable to keep
as the changes creep in between days
and weeks, and amaze us with fits
that suffocate -
- where all used to be wild, free air,
sunlit waves, green hills, trees and sheep,
folding into dreams
that awaken to futures of cities and skies
we'd stride every day toward,
worth all our lives
But it's not the person who used to be
going forward to meet whatever shall come.
And a good bet, whatever there is
won't bring back what you wanted it for
in the first place, hon.
But maybe some.
Then again, maybe more than what
we imagined will come.
Friday, July 02, 2021
Seeing each other's arousal
("oh jeez"), we spring
as if urgent -
for need has called
and response has become
high duty indeed.
full blown mutual.
You were the first
- that time you saw
me distracted by you
in the midst of talk,
my chagrin arose
full fluster and rue.
Your eyes awoke
from across the room
- you actually said
"oh jeez," dropped
your doing and ran,
slid the last halfway
on your knees! Perfect
aim in poise and élan,
in the nick of time, stopped
to save the day, to fulfill
It became a joke to live up to
and for. It grew obligation
from gift galore, and it seems
to have made emergencies
rather more routine, and joy
a chore we absurdly enjoy,
if possible even more with ease
than before, since we know
that we live to please.
in a station that bursts
disgracefully in conflagration
enflamed, we hang
in suspense on the edge
of a bell, making chili
and talk, playing improvised
games. Fixing recipes we've been
dying to try, killing time, making life
till the call comes in - and we drop
all our doing (and one of us always
says to this day "oh jeez,") and
we leap to respond! To begin,
springing into the act
on high alert duty routine
at a run!
We don't walk. This is
serious biz! That's a fact.
No one winks. We don
serious mien and we
mean it! So trained
we don't even think.
We giggle and squirm
out of uniform, into proper kit
on a call like this - as around us,
headquarters begins to smoke.
There are flames to catch, crackle
pop and hiss. There is duty
to serve, and a day
to save which was never
in doubt or fear. No joke.
It has gone past a joke,
as practice perfects
in play, in routine
going every which
There's always that
that burns down
Wednesday, June 30, 2021
in brightening sky,
lifting you higher
or even high
I don't picture you deepening
stern and unbowed
with a painstaking care,
or popping a curtsy
with ironic mirth.
Wond'ring what now
has become of the rest.
I don't picture you naked
in splendid rebirth,
or shining arrayed
in whatever raiment
suits best. I don't picture
you really at all. Not
as such. I imagine
such pictures can't hurt
or help. I imagine you are
who you've shown, who
I know, and I bet
my idea of you
has nothing on you
doubt gnaws, irritates.
I imagine you equal to any
such sums as could add, multiply,
exponentially better or worse.
I expect that life vexes and bucks,
but I bet you are up to such stakes,
pounding deeper or raised
in all blessing or curse, even though
you'd prefer smaller stakes to come.
I picture you not averse.
Just a little bit pissed, nonplussed,
and reserving one's judgment on one
you can trust. Who is you, of course. I hope
you know: you can trust that one. I do.
You must. Sure wayfarers grow unsure
upon unsure ways, but that's only
'cause that's the responsible thing
to have done.
Only in ways made careful and sure
do we find and recall irresponsible ways
Tuesday, June 29, 2021
We can't lock horns without a toot or two.
Our grappling matches mostly just excuse
how you pat my back, I pat yours for you.
Our enmity, dependable as day - has grown
enthused, infused with something gay.
A fondness, and a grudging real regard.
Let's make this next step very fucking hard.
Sunday, June 27, 2021
We are made of whole cloth
by our own deft hands. Bolts
and reams of rough cotton and
wool, raw silk, nature. And
nurture: spanking gorgeous
textiles and patterns, tweed,
houndstooth, twill. We feed
and feel this warp and weft
in us, as we grow. It shrinks
to fit until we outgrow it and
we split. We cut and stitch
it tight again, each time.
It splits again. We cut and eye
and choose and find to shape
and make what suits our kind.
Our kind of one, we're tailoring.
So much whole cloth. Such styles
and tones and forms we make
to be, each time we grow
and split. So to begin.
Saturday, June 19, 2021
So let us go a-maying, lasses!
Find our values in the fields.
Let us go a-merrying, like asses
we’ll assess the yield of grasses
and sweet wildflowers!
Let us go a-maying, lads!
All of us without dismay,
in disarray exulting glad
and reveling in powers fine,
to find ourselves sweet making hay
as summer sun beats shining skin
to brass and bronze, while shadows lay
their deepened plot to steal the day. Some
mother puts the kettle on. In stone and clay,
recumbent, caught, so flagrant and delicious
won, we’ve scattered lying all for naught.
In perfect pose and natural touch,
We all gleam cold and settled in.
The sun has made a monument.
These souls were so alive here once.
These statues once had souls within.
From my huge coffee cup
every time I drink deep
I drink a slug. Because
sip - I think "a slug" "could
have fallen in there, and
be drowning or drowned
and poached besides, from
the lingering heat. Oh opaque
dark surface tension of coffee
bitterly delicious, unsweet,
uncreamed - would you be
so foul as to hide a slug
or a bug from me, by
your innocent physical
optical properties? It
would brush my lips
an invisible heaviness
in suspense! And cause me
to go "EUH" like that one
beloved ex-beloved of mine
used to love, but dread to hear
the cause. I imagine my hand
involuntarily flung away from
my head flung the other way, while
my poor body - caught without
training or instruction, specifically
pulled its ace spasmodic jerk
recovery move - and my poor coffee!
Flown all over, cup still falling in
slow motion, beyond recovery -
it will be dashed to bits
and the slug will crawl out
however, this is no news to me.
I live like this. Every time coming
in from the patio, the ersatz French
windows, to be navigated with three
things and two hands, it all goes sly
on me. One thing tumbles then I
in deft reaction send all things
flying and hitting and bouncing
or breaking, as usual, as always.
But not yet. Always not yet
it didn't happen yet so - may
not be so inexorable, after all.
We'll see. "HANDLE IT!"
sometimes I even say aloud.
In affirmation, a command.
Physical interaction with reality
daunts in mind - yet easy
in practice! Forewarned
is forearmed. And with my
imaginary and highly-trained
four arms I manage all tasks
with ease and grace, prompted by
a galvanizing flash of mismanagement
- a premonition like a superpower.
I love it, it saves me in the nigh-barreling
down future moment (which in the event,
misses by miles); alarms, dismays me
and saddens me in the present; and does
nothing at all to me in the past. How could it?
The past is made of what futures hit. This
was another sweet miss, guidance
systems clicking and flying on all
cylinders, rotating and pounding
in air, engineless and uncoordinated
but flawless in operation, "flaw"
being hard to conceive in such
chance unplanned undesigning ops. In close
with some withsome one who matters.
They say something, and of course,
my response is almost unimaginable horror
and dread and regret food and fuel and I SAID
IT - to me, I did, it's obvious I did -
the original hypothetical immersion
specialist am I, I am and I CAN FEEL
IT I said it
and I can feel why I did.
I don't know WHY why, but
I can feel why. Of course I would
say a thing like that, yet I can already
foresee such consequence. The fall in their eyes
has found me out.
I am this terrible
thing you know.
They now know.
It is not pleasant, but due to canny
foresight and acumen it can be yet
averted by special means. In the nick
of this split stretched instance I step back
soul ripping free from my fleshy skinny
clothesy back without rending anything
material, assume kung fu soul stance
and SNAP THAT NECK - my own neck,
the neck of the offending one - from behind!
Such relief and release. You jerk
I judge, richly and with deep, dark
tragic sad scorn, for - he was a good
Mischance averted like clockwork.
Nobody's really better at this than I,
as far as I know. I'd be curious to know,
if they are. If they aren't, I'll know the reason
why, and it's one of my favorite things about
me really, in a sense. The coping thriving defense
mechanism I inhabit and expand to become
when imagination threatens
is fulsome and fearsome in one. Scary.
I can PREVENT MYSELF suddenly
and without cause dropping way too much
stuff I carry, by the merest laser-locked
action focus of hard, paid attention
clicked in. Taking over. Impressive
Oh, really? I never found it so. I deal
with it out of hand. Out of hand, out
of mind I say. "Oh,
it was nothing."
Friday, June 18, 2021
I recommend listening
to a new language, imagining
what meanings might be
- use intuition wildly,
and find reason bound
to imagination by speculative
perhaps fantasy. Fancy is too often
too flighty, let your fantasy be rigor
and strict discipline, I mean
anything necessarily or consequentially
sexual. Perhaps romance is on your mind?
If so, begin burly training of the mind's
imaginary muscles, especially
the other's. In mind,
test and extend, stretch
their limber lithe limbs
and give them a real
workout! Pay special
attention to the butt glutes.
Try repetitious motion! Then
tell the other how they did
in your mind? It could be
time for brutal honesty.
things like "Logic!" when
a true or fair point is made.
Make a serious, stern face
and stroke one's chin
with erect index finger,
in a way suggestive of
Make eye contact electric
and note, "I am still thinking
about what you are about
Make meaningful rise of
eyebrow(s) at this point of
yours. A point
as it may be provocative,
so worry! Cross
your fingers of both hands, stoop
and stand bolt straight, stoop
and sway low. Improvise rituals
which may propitiate the other. Groan
low in somber ululation, if asked
what you are doing. Throughout,
keep making eye contact meaningful.
In these ways, you will realize
and come to understand why
I recommend listening to a new
language, in order to increase
your mind. Because
we kind of wandered from that,
out so well. Back to basics is best,
and your judgment
I caught the bus
Santa Cruz down town
in a couple of stops
we were in N.J.
three thousand miles wrong,
so I got back off.
And the bus rolled away.
I looked around. I was
at my college again.
And stifling, suffocating
from all the clothes. See,
that bus rolled off all happy
and nude! As every single one
put their clothes on me. So
I trekked campuswise
to discover the place,
and how it had been
since all these years.
I could barely move
due to all of the clothes,
and everyone I met stripped
to add their gear. I inferred
from this, I was some kind
of goat of the sacrificial kind,
with a load sincere. I might even
be killed by the weight of it all!
All society's clothes, stripped-nude
I chose? Taken on for them,
all the clothes they took off?
Well, not to be rude, but
I really didn't need this on top
of all else. I don't recall asking
to be this way.
I'm happy for the whole wide world,
if so! But I'm dying in here. Wait
what, no - it's okay. That's actually
a cute outfit! I don't mind
that one so much.
We live in a glass house
surrounded by stones
instead of a lawn.
Standing outside, partly
cloudy sky, the reflections
are ominous bathed in light.
Then a shadow comes over.
You see inside. The stones
The landscaper hated the
architect. The original owner
thought it was fun, then died.
He was stoned. An overdose.
You and me moved in.
The place was a steal, since
the world can see all -
so we try to wear clothes
- plus because of the ghost.
We have grown rather close.
Thursday, June 17, 2021
We only exist wherein we agree.
Where we don’t, ‘we’ divides
to you and me, who clearly
exist independently. Except
wherein we combine to agree.
We agree to align, combine or unite.
We electrify difference and charge
our fight in some same, good cause.
We are on the sane side, with all
disagreement along for the ride.
It is held between us as lesser
than this. Our deep high stakes,
forged in pain and bliss
- for we've come to abide
in the difference it makes.
Disagreement agreed in
because it redounds
to both our sakes.
Monday, June 14, 2021
I drove all the way wrong down a one-way street.
When I got to the end, I saw the sign
and I was surprised.
Nothing special down here! Why did the law
with its arrows and lines try
to keep us all out? What were they even
...how does anyone come to such end?
Except by coming the wrong way
down! Then I saw
with the corner, then front of my eye
this tricky little side-slip squick of a road!
A hole in the cul-de-sac, in through which
trickles every little bit of the traffic load
down this back-tucked away little
corner of maze. Finding the secret path into,
going all one way like a dare and a bet.
And getting out of it - who knows?
Saturday, June 12, 2021
Thursday, June 10, 2021
in every case. Those
who rationalize and
justify merely stratify
to their own disgrace.
Find metrics, criteria to exclude
and disqualify others: "To you,
Yet no one
can ever have deserved
the triumph of making