I am unwise and I am unrisen, divided peace
churn-thickened by cultless following, and nobody is listening
or are not
where from, unto which extremes
do you weave too gaunt - give it up already:
I get it, you can be mean
to beast as well as I
know that of ink throb
through feeble bodies - crush on words
just is a byline, is not mastery itself
you can and do for ever to waste
yet it is so that one thing in you is governed
is that essentially this
taken leave of/for ingrate sense
from fear clerically trifling, bled mystery
who withers is not only that - it is not just you
there, now do you know who you are?
