Societal Discard
Stupendous nothing that in me
as i waste away my humanity
endearing endeavors
once thought to be cleaver
all is refrigerated mold
(or not)
don't feel for the withered and dead
nostalgia is the worship of molted snake skin
and if life slaps the be-sam-burglar out of you
rejoice
(for rejoicing requires mere attitude and disposition)
vast energy reserves not required
name your machine
find me one thing
that does not live on borrowed time.