the illusion of choice
is livin in the suburbs
we standin over corpses
from thousands of miles away
you buried her image
with yer own hands
around oxygen molecules
a cat walkin
o’er sewer grates
prayer calls
o’er skype
international ambulance sounds
does medium
does interface
change craft
methods of output
get out that internal
trade regulation
eternity is boring
you sighed last breaths of something
as
a cat walks
o’er sewer grates
as a murder of crows
perch on high tension lines…
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