Make Sense

This cycle of separateness  will continue until we close the distance between one almond and another. Only class, gender and nature have ethics and rights to communal sexual orgies. A ritual of economic immunity - a time without suffering. Yet a slow mount of anxiety rises through the buying and selling of buns. As the moralistic gypsy blows his bird whistle, bubbles fill the one legged streets. Immigrant to death and monday to monday all activities shall be inserted into a folder where the clock fabricates an individual. Forget that you are a woman or a pen. A big net caught our trailing addiction and your ONE shot at living is filled with eggs and disappointment. What dread this separateness. A prescribed feeling, cheerful and married, a tolerant herd. Relief though, from the separating jaws. Machine pedigree. Arts will clone a place beyond pseudo- unity. A super drive of data cattle to mimic the glue between me and you. Rhapsody misogamy this equality smells like sameness. I am an addict weened to early from the hoofs. No humor with this whole structure that seeks to unify separateness.