Divergence between I and a 47 year-old Suit

Chaotic tin rattles us through the earth,
like groomed Morlock’s, mistakenly proud,
electrically numbing the aftermath of the death
inherited by our commute, shared eternally,
ceremoniously cleansed in routine. Hollering,
the assess, my rotting tendons scream “rebel”
but I slit them, ashamed, blooded with an 88%;
the uniform earns a seat, engraved “the prized mutt”,
critical comprehension slipped through the budget.
I choke on post-modern infinity, spit up grey apathy;
“Next stop University Station”. I shuffle alive, almost.



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