Turn up the terseness.
All of my verses got vandalized
in the vibrating web of precepts
prefabricated to save everyone
the trouble of thinking.
As the sinking ship said to the sea,
“Well, let’s get this over with then.
Devour me. If this is destiny,
then so be it. And if not…
Well do I have an alternative?”
These sedatives have their own way
of doing things. I tie my sentiments
with string and drag them along
as I scout the cartoonish wasteland
for something to chew on
before sleep sucks me into its kiss.