| Bilking, cribbing, weightlifting first feelings
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| Ministering protocols, going on ten years of «hold my calls»
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| Yam-yielding, into losing something
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| Sky, I’m doing buttons, want plaster for the glory hole
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| Forecaster and morning-colored smoking jacket
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| Hoarding half-hearted hustles as hobbies
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| Spare your spread, scratchy boundaries
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| I kept hearing cloud bursts, drawing Hendrix in particular
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| Curse victor who don’t consult with history
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| Somewhere in Sector Z6 Romulan, hmm (somewhere in Z)
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| Wanted for war crimes including orchestrated acts of sedition, hmm
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| Including orchestrated acts of sedition
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| You be tripping
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| Hmm, cascading star sheets, continue
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| Perfection is a haunt, stuttering to get it out
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| Like w-w-w-w-word is bond
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| Set it off by disagreeing with Laconde
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| Quickest way to get on is lick upon
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| Fuck a text, fuck your gaze, fuck this mass absurdity
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| Geiger counter in my hand, firepower in demand
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| Said, «Sunday, go to meeting time», the geek seemed hesitant
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| To tweet, read please, freedom from rhetoric
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| Fascism is fashion disaster, the tavern master
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| Pointing me to Gideon’s law keep
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| Like «There's Zwarte Piet right there»
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| Right there |