... addiction ..., ... Applachia ..., ... beauty ..., ... experimental ..., ... poem ..., ... poems ..., ... poetry ..., ... religion ...

nothing save inspiration

what is there to woo
us in this life,
this goddamned modern life?
wretched, despicable life.
when we needed Reason,
we made Science.
when we lusted for Worth,
we made Religion.
what are we judging? and
who the fuck is watching?

Nova says that i am
trillions of cells.
a heap. yet conscious of
my own mortality. each one
single of me can exist for
an amount of time alone,
in a petri dish. each cell
indifferent to me, yet
wholly obedient, yet with
all the Free Will of me;
a spec in the eye of
a man who just
doesn’t seem
to care
what you think.

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