daily affirmation

Drivel drifts from keys to screen, I’m phlegmatic and Caucasian
--I vent a lot my spleen. Those evenings at the bar (so much left unsaid) in our social solar system circulating, rumour mills shredding--reputations--who’s out and who is in, and there are flickers of dismay at what used to pass for sin; "we are not surprised at anything you said." (Perhaps we are clairvoyant, or emotionally dead.)

You could ask me a secret; you could spit in my drink, but I can't give you lessons in the roundabout think. With words so rhetorical and overly wise, I derided the unalive, the contrived, rhyming signs in the nonstandard time, I espouse and condone the cacophonic, the fluid flux of slippery syllables, so sly that maybe meagre metrical maids might teeter, quake no longer under the imperial lodestone.

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