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## Notes on craft
This barbaric lollipop against the craft
spills into the other end of the day.
There is something in the orange and
glow that feels outside of natural.
Is it a factory, a machine, an automated
wind of overworked hair-netted thought?
Is it a cloud, a datapoint, an enumerated
step on a list where this happens then that?
Is it a store, a product, an incorporated
conglomerate of chemical modification?
Somewhere in this process is the thing
that makes us all human again.
Some slow familiar foam bubbles in the
gaslit boroughs of the ego branded city.
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