I took seven syllables hostage
in front of the entire sentence
I was brutal
they allocuted
it was choppy

I don't know how to go there
I say knowing how to go there
something spurts out
in a slow wave
clinking along

In our nonsensical carriage
dreaming of paths or naught
all this echo
of a texture
saying something

If i drive it right over there
does there suffer much
so don't push it
i often think
slipping between