How noteless is this life
The Real is an instinct of locality
All a question of proximity
And sense to spirit integration
I’ve forgotten all odes familiar
Whims to bloom, and buttercups to smell
I’ve spurned Daises and rules of Noon
With Recollection of your numbness
How irreverent and cordially anonymous
Is every moment from the next
That fancy and sunrise
Are simply doors left ajar
This world a simulation of requests
That you disdain men, and I find women
Like Oxygen, necessarily toxic.
Wuji Seshat 