• Vol. 06
  • Chapter 04
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I long for a destructive art

no sense can be wrung from this din ad             infinitum

could we all perhaps agree
a moderate catastrophe?

come, come
we weren’t meant for an easy life

I have in mind
a cessation of the diffusion
the digital transport

can you not feel parts
being taken away?

come, let’s reorient these stale opposing lines
this insipid coercion
exposed by protest

we are not children of the state
or the party

no-one would be spared
but we could be adequately prepared