I'm a noise.
A gun full
of blanks.
No,
No,
I'm a name.
A licking flame;
a little dancing belief
in some—finite existence.
Now,
a performance.
Some bloated, disordered,
and complicated system; A full-on
rhetorical fireworks display—going off with no explanation.
Then, it's
not so much—what
do I do next? but, how can I refuse?
And lastly,
not so much—what have I become?
as, how was I used? and how often? and, most important, by whom?
