solid air

Don’t know how to drive.
Can’t even park
into huge chasms
of disquietude.
How can I comb
the hair of my
marble personality
the incredible wobble
of the universal flux –
my feet are spaghetti
and the air around
one gigantic block
of solid
I can’t breathe,
my incomplete dreams
have begun unfurling
in an inexplicable atmosphere
of suffering.

Nihilistic Poetry

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