options are opened, still.

every once in a while i picture a dust trail following an old red nova.
liberty spasms call on me in a random fashion. freedom, freedom. the lack of it and you can catch me in my post mortem.
random as it may be, the feeling of tar and fast cars brings me further from the definition of far.

or so the latest vulgarity i have learned is conformity. one look is all it takes. offensive. when the word was first used, who took it offensively that deliberately? hardly anyone as i can see. see what it has done to me. a prey in this system with a white id. retrospectively and thankfully, it ain't what the soldiers call the 11b.

according to egalitarians, everyone gets a fair share of the cake. at this very moment. you should listen to the man of theories.
close your eyes.
open it again.
what do you see?
if i ain't no longer there like a bumble bee.
where else can i be?
ask the attorney,
who slices the cake actually?