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NovHaibuno – 12

12 – Cost of Your Own

Schlepping soil to base
working until exhaustion
cost of growing food

There is a need. A need to write it out. Write out nothing in particular, and everything peculiar. Liar. Library. Precocious. Leave a comment down below. I watch the same old man tell the same old stories like he is better than you. Is that so called art or artifice? Low clouds skim the moisture out and settle it up higher. We can see this process in motion, unobstructed by buildings with intentions of scraping the sky (as if that is a good thing). Which it isn’t. Most definitely isn’t. The second eye is blind, so the third must compensate. Our patriotism is misplaced, misaligned, and out to lunch. The artifice is the slow burn of christmas in a paper bag. We zip our hoodies tight against the rage of the cogs in the machine. Unfortunately any empathy I may have had towards the drones has gone up in smoke. It now all smells vaguely of burning jet fuel and decomposition. Hope comes in green packages. Packages wrapped up tight against the spineless unyielding.

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