There must be howsoever the utter lack of discipline which lives nestled contently inside of laziness & indolence but nevertheless some exhaustions & lament.
For though one may fly thirty thousand or so feet from here to there & feel the righteousness of neglect under the shadow of vacation no fires have been smothered.
Indeed those hitherto under control might still rebel or surreptitiously thrive which is heretofore & evermore consider a failure & potential emergency.
What & what does one do in the face of entropy & ennui? One cannot sing with a mouth filled with snacks! One cannot soar within the confines of closed & shut.
Declare this not a warped ghazal, purpled poetic prose, overstuffed ripostes! Let instead the pretend pretentiousness settle unevenly like ash on parked automobiles.
Even ever, never naught, doubly singular & terrifically bland. The illusion of progress is like a dream of creation; one wakes feeling accomplishment easily disabused.
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