No, Don’t, Know

Let me get around, let me fill my quota, know

Some sound, some round, some filler some quotidien, know

How hell-bent on the angle at the corner, know

So well, so sleepy, so distraught in the middle of it, know

Metering lights, shit-digging, often sparks and lice-lights, know

How hoppy and distrustful, full of woe, no mother, know

Well we kept up and the restful stayed behind, so no race, know

No contest, no beginning, just the twine intercalating in my knit, know

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