You see a kaleidoscopic spongesque speck pushed into a blur over your vision, Sitting on air & feathers. You sit on air rather than feathers, Incased in drywall, Surrounded by your worldly possessions, Drowning in sweat, Suffocating from air, The hum of coupled fans waltzes’ into your skull, A metallic mind prints mass media Via a melodramatic faux-vintage situation into your skull, There’s the pitter-patter of post-traumatic pondering in your skull, A Mexican Coca-Cola clutched in your left hand, Phillip-Morris owns the pocket on your breast so that they sit closest to your heart, Pabst Blue Ribbon has carved rights to your liver, You have an over analytic sense of humor and well-being. Now you decode your day. Now you chastise your intuition for lustful engagements with shadow people. Though you have no qualms with this, You enjoy yourself from time to time. But cannot you imagine a more climatic proposition, In a less disposable universe? Where corners are cut, Shoving dignity & quality out the door Is where impractical risks are made. However, All you ponder now is the blur pushed into the edge of your eye. Perhaps it is a microorganism rendezvousing with another microorganism. Though they would have no concept of predetermination.