Seasonal Allergies

I’ve had a headache that’s not a headache since as long as I can remember 

I hope it’s not called being alive 

I would rather there was something wrong with me 

Than this just be the general disposition of a mammal with an overly developed brain 

We still use a lot of Latin words 

For a language that supposedly died 

I guess that explains why the ghost of that God figure keeps sticking his nose into our politics three centuries after his funeral 

Of all the forking branches of that river that couldn’t have run otherwise 

Some terrible things happened for it to end with computers 

I hope there’s no beginning in computers 

I hope that we burn out and the whole thing reboots 

I hope that dirt is the mainframe 

I hope that chemistry’s beauty is never seen again

Believe something or don’t 

There’s a fine line everywhere you look 

And together 

Interwoven

Something thicker 

More robust 

How spring has a smell 

And winter a feeling 

And neither a purpose 

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