“I didn’t realize what we had.”

He couldn’t see from the view within his stomach. Nerves are too high.

Well, you work full-time, overtime frequently because it’s only a five-day work week. Your hands are full cutting a path through what the racists made today.

Your Yeezies are barely scuffing the stacked monomers, my guy! Where did you come from? There are dicks the size of city blocks clouding your view. Same-day tsukumogami are drilled into the soil and rock and you trip on them.

You weren’t taught to realize her/they from the muscles between your shoulder blades, reaching behind you to turn it around, reaching in all four directions with the somaticists. Need I remind you that we only had one chance to spin the title track. (Ascenseur pour l’échafaud). You barely heard the record pops. The time that remained didn’t leave us one breath to talk about the sound before the rich were on the ballot again.

Written at the kitchen counter. My overcooked omelette lays on the cutting board. The sangha relaxing down into the sunrise and into memory.