Wikipedia Poem, No. 883
Like a final decision?
No.
Then it—
I know
the sound
of yr idling
presence
of cheap life:
this
too late,
son.
Sale for free
vertigo
without orientation
sale for free
vertigo
without orientation
sale
for free
vertigo
without
weird
lines.
Statistically speaking, engine rich
with gasoline
the stations
the
desirable ones at least
between dick and
burn it down.
I know the
sound of yr idling
about wild
weird
lines appear
or disappear
or
then disappear
and disappear
or disappear.