Thursday, November 20, 2014


No gold comes from scraping the bottom of the barrel,
Fruitless seemingly insightful sycophantic suicide,
Opposed only to those daring to collide.

Hearts cannot grow without moving almost massless molecules,
Creating a popless simulacrum,
Creating memetic crumbs,
Coalescing this collective,
Of consciousness, of carefulness,
Tearing away the callusation,
Emerging into castles of ex nihilo creation.