A Simple, Undefined, Mortal Gut'knot. New Taste! New Color! Buy Two...

* 'I' don't want to write(thishit)anymore.
     There's no self to serve,
     no Other to praise....too much/many'o
     these 'bad' pooms about 'It' already
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[font=Times New Roman]brand'new,
age'olde,
   old-age
   adage for a vague
            angst-knot\gut
            level,undefined
   mortal foreboding,
(a foreboodlingly[/font]    mo'tality)
in yet an'other grand'new century
   Frame-of-Absurd-Minded Profusance,
(big swallers of syntheti'cures every mo'ning
     of Everyday of Everever)
making
up make'a
believe wordlings wit which to 'clarify'
Me,my Moron In Wondahland bonedome
                         entrail
                 special spa'cial
             bile'ic gurglations----


yOur childrens be grown now....they'll
   never
        be 'safe'....there's no safety,
                             no insulation
regardless[ly] of how I mighta thought to
tight-up seatbelts, helmet straps....


there's no-thing of 'a fix'......
only let'go unto/on to
             only not-Know,


tryin
to milk
a few moments of vitality
                   on the folly'ated path
                  to human-induced
                tragedy's
       deep'weepin
             comedy /


ah, yes!eye see thee corpo'pharmacy is
      right here/there,
    exactly where it'supposed to
              be........



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