*

somebody spent 49.95 dolors on this thoughtless single-use device. 
there was thought behind it, but it was spent, in the first place, we waste
so much time in time of waste running, trying to catch up,
what a waste, manufactured by design, for profit, not just. this trash was intended, 
a priority. thug hunter death with a glock (is that a glock? 
idle know from guns) building, burning, building and burning flag. it's not a war 
on terror, is it. it's a war on peace. it's terror simply terror profit, it's simplicity complexified. it's a nationalistic disease. a statement about thug nationality? and what does it mean?
the state within, this disease, in me, is different from the hate, hard to differentiate, these united states. we know, 
it's just a stupid explosive device; nothing that explodes is simple. the mind 
can become the simplest, most helpless thing, fed a steady diet of hate. something corrosive 
is in the air, the water, the pollution, the hate. and our waste will outlast 
our civilization, our sacred waste.
i got the uh-oh feeling in my right foot again, the itchin, the moanin. 
the disease that got in my skin, the disease in me, is environmental, it's not the hate though
it gets hard to differentiate. 
so i got to the water so calm and inviting, my heart longing, 
my right foot reluctant, the rain began, and bound for home mister was supremely dawdling, i had to pull him a little way on leash. i thought, i can't help any of this, 
i know i'm not supposed to dwell on the dark matters, but the dark matters are increasingly prevalent, even with the little rays of sunshine, i thought this moaning, via the itchy pattern in my sole-sol-soul, we are disintegrating in a disintegrating world. the world will continue the wars of disintegration, and we will be subdued, denigrated, distracted, debilitated, disintegrated and killed and we will die. i can't unsay what is said all around me, by the water i swim in and the air i breathe. there's resilience yet fragility. resilience so fragile 
to sustain. forgive me while i live. gotta believe while we live if the merchants of death 
hafta employ such brutal means to control and kill the people which always fail
at catastrophicost people must have power still expanding like breath if they hafta like nafta be so brutally suppressed. and the space of forgotten dreams
stays open the next day.

*whoa, this one really kinda got away from me, you'll have to dump it unread or make of it what you can.