Index sprawling into pieces.
Thinking works in candlelight.
Landlord won't extend our lease,
so we'll peal through the dead of night.
Caustic spending, fragrant ashes:
prudent policies suffice.
"Extant price under our blankets,"
if you wanted arcane advice.
But it's wrong.
Stop listening to songs.
They tell you where you belong.
But you've known all along.
Listen to the glistening pavement,
if you care about what to wear.
Tutelage won't make you patient.
And neither will occult prayers.
So I'll read through human bibles
and walk along the avenues.
Looking out for thin disciples
I hope I'll run into.
I can't hear my own song.
Don't know if I'll go along
with tired ways of thinking through hiss.
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