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π™ΌπšŠπš’πšŠ π™²πš‘πšŠπš–πš‹πšŽπš›πšœ

πš„πš—πšπš’πšπš•πšŽπš


empty deity rockwilding the rottweiler
the Rothschild? let’s not start it
dark virtue signal, evil twin mirror
info-bounded courtesy sigil
blue light in the dead of night
I’m sick widdit
I’m persisting it
insisting he use real elastics on the courtesy fist
not clothbound, hair-breaking
not rock-n-roll, real moral shaking
like I’m so fucking hardcore baby
that’s all there is to it

πš„πš—πšπš’πšπš•πšŽπš


representative of men
in aporetic infancy, exists for me
belongs to winter sun streams
and primal call of differencing
scared shitless
telepathic in the fact that
scared shitless, yeh
um, uh, I guess, cult of kek
and very very sleepy, um, I rest
smoked out labour parades, even these days
little boy: whip your flag
your arm prolonged and windy
I don’t know really
what’s going on
or all these big men seem to be saying
but the burn of class war prophecies
static candy in my cavities



        Maya Chambers [bio here]