a point
coded, dark purpose
the very air is dark purpose
it’s death
we breathe our own demise
it’s the food we eat
it’s the liquid we drink
it’s the fucking air
the soup we swim through
is coded
“a” for anything you care to enumerate
“b” for the bullshit
that clogs our nostrils like wet sand
“c” for dark purpose hidden
in plain sight
like the cop at the funeral
he’s always got the bosses in mind
code
birthed in thin air, now studded
with barnacles, ghost ship
slips, fading ever toward transparency
into another form, can we ever
scrape it clean
and wash it away
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