Torrent of Consciousness One

For the masses and the classes that can read between the line
The whole is undefined and the shards are in the feet
And the breadline is the space in which there is something to eat
A something scraped up from the tarmac of the black skies of our dreams
Because we sleep, when we can sleep, outside our tents and white boxes
Made of the papers that we pulp beneath our feet.

In ink there is a bleeding in reading there is a feeding
On the blood squeezed out from fingers on the blood on painted nails
Through the only things still Christlike beyond profitmarginalias
Beyond pungent New Utopias swelling drowning and waving
Injected with the water that the meat is injected with
Injected with metal pointers like mouse pointers that break in

And point at the bleeding diagnose a lack of feeling
Diagnose an adolescence unworkedthrough. I am a NEET.
We are a sinking into silence and an avoiding of violence
And a folding into oppressions that tiptoe into teeth.
The lines have all disintegrated masses have ingratiated
And we love who we hated - and hate them all the same.