and when did easy ever get you anything?

"Nothing can keep me from writing about myself. Even myself. I can't seem to see anything but reflective surfaces. Everything relates back to something that' happened before. Then I wake up and I'm in this mirrored maze, which lulls me back to a sleep that wakes me up."

That's what my friend the narcissist says anyway. I like the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy a lot. So many rooms. The past is full of fathers. But what of the vessels they were born in? It seems that they are writing about the shells and going as far outside their matrix as possible. Spinoza. It doesn't cost a lot to philosophize. Less to write poetry.

this doesn't make sense
moss skinned aesthete
senses aimed the knots
at inked hotness seems

ask me heisted sonnets
to hated meekness sins
hesitant smoked sense
tenses those mean kids

Angry Pooka

this doesn't make sense