These are the days when your place
Is watched in a half-matrix
By all those that burn you in themselves
Strength lies in the
Broken grounds of intersection
Between sanity and existence
I cry out the same works
On the same grounds
And all I want is words
No foetal memories remain
Life will be my crucifix
The seriousness of old men is a laugh
It’s the permanence of their breath
That grows inside of you
Looking for regeneration
We were all old men once
Yet I never looked at you in totality
And sat inveterate

And the oldest messages are sonar
When the sun comes out
I will spit at sententiousness
Through time I’ve fought mediality
Structure
Reminding me of emptier days
Clinging on to roads
Burning time off paths
Burning paths of time
My love doesn’t respect me
Because I tease it with words
Prometheus the putrefied
In this labyrinth of blind clairvoyants
I am your home
So many of them will sing to me
Warmth decanted into the ethos
Before we accept god as eugenicist
There’s little to be learned with these
Truths until we construct our own matrices.