in whole or in part
collective unconscious produce meaningful art?
the canvas is white again,
paint no longer pumping
through its network of tributaries;
cut and splayed by the virginal acumen
of a jaded parvenu,
stupid stupid,why the fuck should I please anyone,
"we're all mundane"
what keeps us sane?
the answer, no; the question?
human is dehumanized and has no voice
sponge rapt in free verse,
the tired ruminations on rumination,
skipping the beat, muting the noise
effortfully futilely, noise
noise, noise,
a louder silence,
a deader calm
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