A working non-title: A draft of a draft of a drift from a rift something that may be polished and be perceived of value if I take the time to sift
by Asad Chishti
Show me something beautiful Make it *something* great Compose me something magical Pray, make it elate
I'm always running behind your Clocks Sorry to make you wait The one thing I know, Oh for certain, for sure the hour of my death shall not be late ever-so-precisely on time and I try to move s-l-o-w-l-y through the finitude of my seasons, understand, please listen, I have my reasons.
So much of this is precisely a construct all set to destruct, the design and architecture of innovation a collaboration of highly-educated well-paid immaculately dressed dummies who send children to war or kill children in war (or worse, in peace) they themselves less the children of a high-quality mummy (or daddy or family or community or compasses + maps or __________), more so this city of mummies.
Gulrez knows that there will always be more to eat not enough time to cook so I am taking a moment to declare,
“Look! I am stopping this loading of my plate When shall my hunger and thirst sate?”
This is a no longer a debate. So sealed is my fate, that I shall no longer, grate on the nerves of this cheese-like gratitude, but slice out a block, toss out the lock, open-source the key, and just let it be in praise of the bees, clean seas, And in the lonely company of myself who is good, and those who are better, slowly drained cups of tea*.
*Chai
