Maybe you shouldn't
You might be no good.
The runs you use
    Arid drags through the dead dry woods.

One day you could be great
A Marrash of My Computer.
But right now your just a union.
   A shredded rubber melded with a rusty, obliterated grate
Chalky granular air spoiling my stare
Art.

Diamonds are forever banished
And that aphotic space gets smaller
And the rough gets rougher
And the facets lose face.
    No blogs will bulge grace.