It's practically a massacre
All this simple joy
or
the bliss of a journey from compentent to master
with
no repentence in the afterall / An inverse massacre/ a rebirth/no more flattery but as you are/
It's practical to fall up
such preferences for tough light and the best company of children and indians--
natives, I mean, incorrecting our dream. Know your history, I mean, it shows up like a future/seeds hidden in moss and water, protected by how you forget them so they can scatter like an afrobeat hymn I once heard everything scatter and called it blackness or getting ready for church step one: Eat that damn apple and stay in the house, it's about to rain out and you can taste that too. How does it taste though?
