Get my hooks into them

whatever that means,

hitting my stride,

whatever that means,,,,,

repeating myself sometimes,

whatever that means,,,,,,,

and we are running out of material,

we are running out of violence,

and we are running out of web addresses.

We are also running out of podiums on which to stand,

and the smell of coconuts which still makes me sick after all these years,

and walking by myself just isn’t the same anymore.

The sun is still relentless after all these years,

the music and the and the trust radiate through me,

and I’m still farther away than I would like to be ,

after all these years,

tirelessness ,

among the relentless hyenas,

disintegrating me, chewing me and my bones,

I am ,

DEAD meat.

The cat eyes,

The marbles,

DEAD meat,

smells. everything.

The ages, sometime,

they see

everything.

THE MIDDLE.,,,, they see

sometimes