Are the abstract ones, in fact, the very same ones who neither believe the world to be both flat nor round anymore?
Soon as they skim the lacklustre surface once more, whilst all awhile taking flat-iron chunks of the exceptional rest
What resolutely remains yet vigorously suggested again – But for no discernibly sufficient rest
For the decidedly distracted masterpiece.
Earth: In this extremely cyclical, deliciously estranging instance
Endless insistences of worshipping, both worshipped Theirs… …
Nevertheless wearing our wandering words for our favourite-best friends – Pressed never-ending, nervously against
The shape of our shifting bodies at a liquid pace
Which breaths, both bathes
Amidst unashamed realisation, please
This pointless pain peppered with repetitively pointless overture until
It ‘Rains’
Amidst all kinds of Colossal Concentration
Either way we see it fit to see it – As exceptional failure simply because –
We appear to be
Defaulted against the negative reach
So as to (dis)orderly adhere
To our soul survival anymore
These words, both weapons – which carelessly, both carefully caress
Our greatest distracting/abstracting nature -Avec needle on a knife edge