lost in a dragged out
rag of an expression,
or is it insight and reference
or religious cult practice?
Words are such a skewed method
of carrying our messages.
No fault is attended to the meter,
Life is not a bitch,
Economy doesn’t count for my decisions,
now wait for the chorus and the drop.
now returns that sense of rhythmless
I will distract myself as my fortune.
But my distraction will be productive,
another drop and rise in the rhythm,
the chorus returns,
and the art I make is worth it.