
anyway > how exactly does ammonia
does it get into a lightbulb / tell me
before the universe > that phony
paymaster i.e bailiff > it disrupts us
our ring of clicking seconds < is each
encircled // ring of cops & piss roses
it is a plague: & yet to smash the Ritz
is tactics etc < in epileptic time, was
fucked up by a non-violent majority
as in government department, lit up
tossed into the crowd / and implodes
in moth stutter < blame that, my tiny
crowd of wages:: a bone flutter, fuse
inserted < is lock universe, just kill it
“what I write at this moment in a cell at the Fort du Taureau I have written and shall write throughout all eternity - at a table, with a pen, clothed as I am now, in circumstances like these” - Blanqui, 1872