On the scene.


Your own


While shrinking

Between quanta

See that

A preponderance

Of the spoons


Ladder to brain

Is climbed

Shred by mote.

Let not


Bat your eyes.

The insipid

Is but a costume

Of sharpened weasels.

Though not to impugn

Their reasons…


One persona

To pass

Not seen through,

And a whole ghostly throng

Of masks

Is to follow.

Beyond the moment

Think what jizm-genetics

Your memetics catalyze..

But beneath the shade

Of most basic awareness,

All rest on the same

Living atemporal matrices.

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