Opera for a toy ghetto (prayer for my unborn boy)

Nestled in a carefully curated chaos and ablaze in the factory sun   total influence spun into objects crushing all the revellers     soporific volta   and a hundred other turns of luck made us human again  and crumbling like sick buildings that would erect again as monuments exalted for their intentional stagnancy  their incidental music  their wounded narcissism and the beauty it informs in we    I still don't believe in anything  especially marriage and blackness     but please believe in me   but transcendence but the dance as a form of laughter at the dance when

Channels and mules and men are obsolete absolutely     the cruelty of obsolescence is equipped with a motor    it runs    carbon and dumb good at running    my hungry   ignorance   my obsession    my elite remedy for elitism  and    how many elegies tell a race    have we made it yet   to that after the end of the world we  went for begetting endlessness  begetting   good thing I forget your name  in time 

We mostly know things are different because people ask us different questions 

How many enemies make a soul? was one I ran to for rescue and found his arms were my own