post snap

you are still pericles—



wailing nations of id,



you will assure them,



 



‘just chemicals’



even,  that all that greens



inside your bulbs—it rancid,



it dastardly savor. narrowing



 



nations, and you got that



itch to dance crushing



underfoot infant



nodes of energy. they compelled to



 



death-wish undertow, they



hide themselves—in the ruins—



 



if you don’t do well with



diorama, this earth is not



for you.



 



this has always



been the same—



ajax showed you, continuity



 



is a cult of personality and you



will subscribe.



 



onion-headed or not.