Highways the man's navigation power line, in to the belly
of the storm, on the path the right direction
the red thread, a tangled mess hypithical,
in the air 3200 feet above sea level traveling
at 500 mph. Fact 30 feet thick and mile wide, deep
below unseen disaster wright in front of your eyes
it's not them it's us, all of us running gasping
for air with flabby skin and glazed over eyes
moth pigs getting force fed prepackaged life till our intestine burst
ready to help stitching the bloody pus mess back in to working
consumption order.
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