Of you more Nothing

Ever one and each 
of ever, again, 
stid plur ill st 
dalous bout being 
disionship ownrelationshwontfully 
it weird enough 
to give a fuck 
not more any 
just death fore 
as I clue cdid 
an conunderstanddeatnot 
I'mith do 
the do not do 
don't want to be a name 
for the reason 
I was just thinking of it 
and I was wondering 
if and when 
I was wondering if 
I was just thinking about it 
is it that individuals 
would have to be that. 
 
A strange hum 
in the quiet afternoon, 
a thread pulled loose 
from the tapestry of now. 
 
The weight of being, 
this constant flickering, 
a switch someone left on 
in a room I can't quite locate. 
 
Every single 
and then the next, 
the echo of a step 
on a stair that isn't there. 
 
Scandal whispers, 
not loud, but persistent, 
a small static 
around the edges of belonging. 
 
Relationship tangled, 
a knot I didn't tie, 
yet my fingers keep tracing 
the impossibly tight loops. 
 
It’s weird enough, yes, 
this whole performance, 
this urgent need to care 
about the shape of the shadows. 
 
But the giving has dried up, 
a well gone dusty, 
not more, not any less, 
just a final settling. 
 
Death as the horizon, 
the only solid thing 
I can chart my course toward, 
a silent destination. 
 
I clue cdid something, 
a momentary insight, 
then it dissolves, 
an understanding lost to the current. 
 
I am not what I will do, 
nor what I refuse. 
A middle ground 
where intentions fray. 
 
The name, that banner they try to drape, 
feels heavy, borrowed cloth, 
unsuited to the fra meb eneath. 
I slip out of itsilently. 
 
The thinking itself, 
a loop, a Möbius strip, 
is it the origin, or the reflection? 
The wondering, a constant rain. 
 
If I was just thinking, 
does the thought possess its own gravity, 
pulling the world slightly 
off its accustomed tilt? 
 
And the heavy part, the fiquestion: 
must everyone carry this specific, 
oddly shaped burdeself, 
this insistence on being? 
Or is the necessities a lone, 
this final, exhaus ting iteration 
of ever one and eachever?

rap,blues funk smear high hats kick trumpet