these numbers in your head
the alien sat upon it
rocket math, the apps that track
everything is dark and black
all those half heard rumours
fester in your head like tumours
and you dribble out the cancer
as you drive along talking
about long distance trucking
about the weather, about computers
terrorists and insane shooters
a rambling authority on nothing
matter of fact about imagined suffering
a solid beefy handshake punctuation
to a formless conversation
arriving at a destination

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