got a juke
for a mushroom cloud;
just one though.

unsung loud enough
to be untold too.
caught sunstroke in the
shade,
joking.
I'm the venom going
drip
      drip
           drip
on my forehead.

the war died awhile ago,
but I still wouldn't
go and kick
the
hornet's nest.

mud for the crown,
gun for the mouth
of a lesser me.

that's vespers on the wind.
do you hear them?
I'm weathering the night,
all of them.
all of this is bent light.
I'm hollering down the hall
for a little bit of insight.
but why though?

zygote to high hopes.
it's hopeless.

it isnt though.

well, I guess coffee
is in ruins.
future excavations
will suggest
some previously unknown
ancient civilization,
but not how it met
it's end.

and yet, here we are.
whose to blame for that ****?

deflect all you want.
I guarantee I can even do that
better than
you.

**** of the earth,
but its still turning
so I don't
see your
point.

I'm long past annoyed
at the shape of the void
I fit into in your
mental map
of all this
*******.

gestures at everything
[everything keeps growing]

we are all digging graves
under some distant hazy
sunset,
somewhere,
anywhere.

the sun never really truly sets.

so what is left to
interject with when
anyone says something
about suffering
having no
end?