whether or not the likeness is abhorrent,

the foreboding flourish plays

The Plight of the Privileged with that faggy fling to it. islands are still a chain no matter how violent the weather gets between them. out of your neck talking can blast a taxi in half.

​

they keep devising tougher and tougher noogies.

trill surveillance is sickening. 

the twin tyrannies of time and space 

hijacked my symbolic, stultifying moral rectitude,

as well as my lackey's. 

i grew up a cliff or two from there, 

sleepwalking the hairy edge of stability.