Strife Glamour

all the world in the world is all wegot.
crushed pearls of wisdom in a cracked goblet
of divine fire.
we have Hours where a century would sleep -
through, and -
none but ourselves to adore into Oblivion
with all the hubris of a bris
at the summit
of some other world.

wegot mushrooms where the sun don’t shine.
and that’s just like having

something.