Seems it’s become man’s cross death lasting duty   To dispose completely of the bright behind beauty.      And this word is somehow then killed,   And put back as it’s fake   Like it was only kept outside apes in the first place.      Overworked words like ‘beauty’ are an undeserved sort of    safety scissors for their purpose.   Were it only meant to be adapted to Hollywood dull,   Leaving a red white & blind eye lain null    Where beauty once saw only passage through the human skull.      (With red white and...Six million ways to d-d-...Chose one.)       Will you soon become one of the many most-empty sons   Hung to kill none and done   Or will you beget a twice life yet   Since effects are always wearing off   The no-concern eclipse they so anticipate,   As its perfect fight dream dissipates   Across work weeks crashing   And empty’s open asking.      There is a sick, soft god   Humane perfection,   To someone’s hard-to-find birdhead collection