behaving according to bamboozled thought even after bamboozles are shown to be naught mother's of learning churning and churning there's rebel attempts based on false learning
but her butter's cover smothers simulacrum backing idle axiom
sitting and relaxing mum A pink mustache taxi mum I think I'm climbing on a bomb Not out of anything, I thought Tickets to a train, I bought to another train, I shot whiskey out my noise, I caught reflection in a mirror, ought To move differently, than tha
prolapsing rat racing
outpacing the spacing
of lines to read between
self observations stink
enemy autopilots;
the default way to think
thought miracles are mere clawing
for more comfortable prisons
woke me
see thee
near impossibility
of being something new
within a culture of breeding
an exploitable being
I feel sorry boo boo