It is all a prickly listlessness. Cat's hair, the farcical
Theatre of the rest of your life
Playing out against the whirr of an engine, drowning you
Out. Who you were, who you will never be
To whom you may never Belong
To whom you are, once more, a mere client, a mere
Nothingness. Why bother?

Listen. To the gentle thrum as they saw you in half.

Hello again the one-handed
Zen clap
of a slammed door, a question, and a silent repudiation.
This temporary oasis, like all others, has dried up and shrivelled
all mirth
any last (unclutchable) straw of
Consolation.
Decision pronto, no appeal. FLOAT
from one day to another, listlessly, a bloated,
gassy
Corpse, coughing and sneezing both with and without shame.

Allow the tremors of every yearning, every ache for
a new life a fresh start a stupid stupid hope
dissipate...
There is the sharp, the suffocating moment.
And that is all, as ever.

Does the customised debauchery
Do the unticked boxes from TodayYesterdaytheDayBefore
reveal anything
At all?
No.

It never stops.
It never stops.
It never stops.
It never stops.
It never stops.
It never stops.
It never stops.
It never stops!