The enigma of the page
Sprouting roots
Growing from psyche
Looking for meaning
With incessant questioning

You’re a hallucinogenic
Under Moloch’s tongue
Melting in his watering mouth
You interrogate the sky
A meek

I’m on clearance
I’ve grown tired
It doesn’t get better
I just keep asking

The flair of fish belly
And the ocean is barren

Work, Class, Love, Work, Class
In the light
Liberty constricts

The man you love
Strips off your skin
Hangs you up to dry
And in the end
You’ll be left

Hand in the sky
Judging and choosing
All comes to an end
There is
No why.

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