let’s take it from the top, the head of states;
most capital affairs are always so fair—
then we can descend, succumb to collect
from each and every single thought wrought,
needlessly one might say, when the matter at heart,
being born like fresh art, defeated the matter at hand;
before it could start up, down apart brought it man.
but his story is timeless, in the manner of a wave, mayhaps,
mayhem, then, be the product of a single tract, perhaps—
the point is relative, but the paths, absolutes,
(but the trick is, you see—there, both in cahoots)—
where, you might ask, still wondering,
when you ought to be sweet-plundering;
every soul before you is proving its use,
crying (out), shining and truly offering truce—
be it forever eternal, or as fleeting muse.
now, here’s what we can say we’ve collected,
from our one act play through the course of a day:
there is this ambivalent humility which comes and goes,
proving that what comes true to one befalls all.