Sometimes I wonder on the psychosomatic Reactivity through the imposed implementations That are constantly being tossed at us In waking world, despite my skeptic layers When someone says something they believe I can find part of me believing with them Their sincerity drives through many lands Images, pasteurized truths Heated by the make believe of our person Symptoms.. what are they really? Maybe just adjustments to echo-static pressures (If such a thing exists) They cling through the frictions of separate functioning energies passing by one another in opposing currents Procreating gossips, and partial positions Sounding inclusion marks of humours or secrets between intimates Hiding by asham-edness For the matters that slipped away in an instant Matter no more, may we propose new May we propose new? Would the qualities attributed to that novel Contagion be seen flowing through the walls of the intended suggestion? Pleasant would it be And fickle would it show, at least in measures of the preference of the bowl that we incorporate