Sartre Means Tailor
The bag of a thing - it hangs like felt thickly and fort-like
draw the chalk lines across the dark surface - crimp it in
the drawstrings will pull will shear - the cliff face of a scissor will slice
The internet sends endless photos of cats - of politics with cats
politicians wrapped in cats - there are cats running for President
your one friend who likes dogs will have to be culled - blood let
Crimp the edges cleanly - find the matter in the matter
discard - this pile of left overs is a heap of could have
it is the hair on the brush - the egg cracked for breakfast - blooms in November
There could be a burn along the rough edge - fingers working
along the splitting fabrics the wools trying to resheep themselves
the sheep - for their part - care nothing of what was lost they are fine
There is no meaning here - the internet is a vast mirror in which
we constantly ask who the fairest is and constantly find only others
a shrink-wrapped bar of chocolate tastes only if we can imagine instagrams of it
Let's not Luddite on this - crimp the edges - find the chalk lines
eventually a jacket will appear - eventually it will fit form well enough
eventually it will be discarded for another slab of unform
Unform and unform this fine felt in lines of calcified thought
The internet has patterns for it - has plethora of them - has litte rboxes full
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