i am organreorganizing my existence
as a hole as we speak
i am chopping off all of the excess parts
i am feeling really nothing at all
i am not typing because i don’t
have the internet
and i’ve been busy
burying my head in
not being busy
/the sand
quietly calculating prioritizing
shipping recieving planning and
counting my ideas on a white
sheet labeled
1,
2,
3,
my love is drying up like oil
after it drips from my mechanical
mind,
chemicals not meaning much
to me
it’s all about cogs and machines
it’s all about chopping down trees
and building something with the wood
like a human being
so i again,
will try and take up
drinking.