Sept 8 2019
bungee binging The Good Place
this witty inventions peeks
in the window, like a pop-up ad for
hmmm, tune to white
shift into this aural or otherwise
ifity. We-ness, us-ness, eplurbalus-usem,
y'all. Nobody cares, but we all feel your pain.
waiting is, is all we made sense of,
but nexts are super-positioning as we speak,
write-read, right (and the feeling of asking per
mission-- like is this thing broken --- but no
it worked) right.
Wedom, rhymes, in rhymnals.
Freedom wisdom dom dom
How happy could you be if dying, the act,
you all dread it; but ever,
the idea, ever.
think death's sting is ever lasting?
Once again, ditty dumm dum ditty
when was ever was? Was ever always
pain, no shred of a strange charm
to take the pain away?
Pain, you imagine evermore or nevermore,
either you imagine one
or the other. Ever is a long time to imagine being happy, and though, although, actually,
ever is in progress as,
dammed definition rule. Who agreed to these
redeeming idle words that stink of chaos as
extreme as ours, here,
in our bubble of being, imagining we
this or that, by taking thought,
a mere qubit past the
tip of your tongue.
Who knows, sometimes it works.