Untitled

Max R

weed induced fits of anxiety

with entrails that mask capital


its moving parts and corpses excavated pasts and futures


masks of racial capitalism and the feeling that we can feel but not touch utopia


if we could only re-organize how we are


these fits of anxiety, they come from a special place that is so suggestive, like on the tips of our tongues


we cannot help but imagine this future because it scrapes and claws


fails to build us up out of brokenness insofar as it revives itself


and so i wonder what brokenness and interiority require, how much death, etc.

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