my girl's soul
sings in me
if he can make it to 5
i can get to 10 in chains
lord,

and i send, gold
books of lies
that the worth of tonight

the worthless ways of last time
can go to hell, for making me 5
and now i go back to silent

chasing angxine
deaf skins, grasping withered tiles
unfind my lips
prohibition

transmorgaphied freaks screened
undowning the cloths
traipsings of fine
lest godly maketh reworking signs


these are lives of homeless people left out in the purge during realignment with the first wave of prisoners to be mathematically irrelevent because bondslaving the prison is treasury notes
census level capitalism and legislators delight

sending this to my editors and various weak times papers