over time we recognize the failures of punctuation and hope for something better but nothing better comes and time becomes this endless runon of bullshit we ask ourselves for solutions of merit but as the only sources of such things we find ourselves at a loss it's tragic one might suppose but one is always wrong always flawed always one disconnected from the whole so massive and beyond ones scope that one is always left with that sense that one is only one in a sea of ones never seeing that one is that same sea and all of the boats upon it

Timestamp: 01.22.07 at 06:59 PM. Filed under: Poetry.