Let us say...

Let us say this is poetry,
In verse, how worse can it get,
Uncharted structured regret,
and its out of meter too.

Let us say this is prose. Drab lines of meaningless words mingled with a stale breath smelling of cheese and rotten eggs. If I read these anymore I may completely eliminate any further doubts about my sanity.

Then if we square one,
and root the other twice,
Does the mess seem free of vice?
Or does it still submerge in a quantum singularity.

Streaming consciousness on present day fiber optic network backbones would probably jam the internet into submission. Submission to the chaos of human will, reaching the ends of the known space-time continuum to communicate with itself.

Exaggerate, anticipate, follow-through,
Stage in silouhette,
Make sure the one you tell, is the one they get,
in technicolor cinemascope.

There is a brutal expression of kindness hidden in the simple derision of capabilities. War that will ravage the insides of the bones that make your stand up. A war with the inevitable. The inevitable defeat, and yet, you will lie wasted in surrender.

Glory to this world and that was,
Mysteries of the stars wrought in your heart,
A complete hole in every part,
The result every time, a perfect, beautiful cipher.