...into a fade of dark where god is the dark of the majority of the cosmic fabric that i tear at night from the smog ridden power plant blocks from the building that has become a low level prison and the surrounding city a yard i pace i quietly so as not to draw zionist bulls eyes and become the fate of palestinians...
...over time the pace has grown me into a zombie... the same one i critiqued in philosophical discourses on courses on kiergegaard and kant... wrangling with descarte and vedanta...
...at the moment its all in my head with all the other things i never said. raging into a civil war and sometimes the civil mono-ethnic becomes a myriad of difference based on time of occurrence, that seems to add a complexion and phenotype... enough to warrant hatred...
...words detonate like the bombs and get incarcerated into a leaden silence that leaves me dragging through the east river like a glum emily dickenson weighing the existential crisis of hamlet as she herself cons9ders to be or not to be...
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