Tuesday, January 5, 2016


I'm going to sleep better if I ditch this,
the little potterer,
recycling with flesh,
up tubing the crumbs,
dreading the pivot of leaving leavings.
Always wanting everything at all times,
not wanting everything,
the generations collide,
the last couldn't up stream crumbs,
this one can,
the boomers couldn't waste,
whilst we clearly can and do,
but as to whether are we supposed to.
There is no law to waste,
so long as waste is arranged.

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