something, something, something, something.
...I was supposed to write something here, right?
discern, detect
and forever inspect
charcoal wool trousers from the fabric of Pierre Cardin
with lazy languid distracted pockets
and a wasted waistband that forgot what it was doing
some other thing happened with the back pocket too
but the anesthetized cutter within slipped
lost traction with the finest of blades
and it was cosmetic surgery for all.
hand sewing faces together
bland slowings of a nondescript endeavor
knowing
creasing
and forever deceasing.
fine finished, in this thing.
