you have to be tough to live here,
arson at the landing
mortar oozing rust in every lock—
it's about time you took control of the uncarved slate
(this is pure Clausewitz)
hard to know how to snare this sensile data
but my clairvoyance proves you're mistaken;
yes, I have an eidetic memory of the community rule,
the early days at root of void—the storeline—but
I'm wary of the word demand and there's
a tremendous amount of water falling from the sky today
with minor blast damage,
the hardest part is loosing the score of solitude
keeping all the bad sheets for evidence