I take a cursory look at the time, the moment
I awake, because sleeping and awakening no
longer are a diurnal ritual, but a condominium of
subsistence. Am I still livid, or is the throbbing in
my soul only from physical pain? Am I not fancying
visiting my keyboard because of my aversion to
exhibit my candour (from which the opportunists get
the leverage), or because of the creak in
my shoulder? I have always wondered of the
faintly touted moot: Is the percussion of destruction a
precursor of creation? If you shatter the egg, do you
get a reinvented chicken? I just don’t want to know
between thinking, speaking and doing…if you all want
to believe I’m done or undone or done in? If self-rectitude
was the action of those that judge others, we would be
in a better place. Sometimes, there is a distinct line between
lecture, lection, lectern and legwork? Is that hypocrisy in
legislature? We have important men whose portfolio is
full of unoriginal borrowed feathers and ideas. Must I
dilly-dally to encourage hip swinging whores, then?
Better they assume my lies reserved for spineless treacherous
liars! I feel maggoty in my substantial insubstantiation,
if I think of taking a Sabbatical! Can they see, I never belonged
out of seeking convenience? I’d rather decompose, disappear?
Yes, wildflowers die! Should they be afraid of death?
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