The Perfect Poem.

It is time to tell
the perfect poem, many
people live in the foreign
city. Once upon a time
100,000 years ago. There
are many ways to enter
Los Angeles. Croatia,
still learing. We inspect
the newspaper over coffee.
I've learned to live
with television. Instead
of protest, try breathing.
Letting the dead die, letting
the living die, what's the
difference. In time, nothing
that I have said will matter,
nothing you have said will
matter either. Syllogisms
are like life, only more
real. Nothing matters
anymore but matter. If
all the birds are dead,
there will still be frogs
for a little while. You
can wear a condom or drink.
You can drink because it is
legal. You can lie. That is
legal. Life is fun. I said
that because it's legal
to say that life's fun,
but I wouldn't want to
force anyone to live one.
How many people. Is the
extant number of people
at this moment a moral lesson
or a bald-faced fact?
Let's get the facts straight,
don't look a gift horse
in the mouth. The tomb
is close, the tome is
closing. Kiss is not
sick, but often mispelling
can get yu into trubble.
Rubble is what's left
when nothing's left.
Nothing can be destroyed
completely. Atoms, and maybe
molecules are allowed to have
egos, but compounds and
agglutinations just have
way too many enemies and
problems to really have
any sort of realistic pride.
Those kinds of things
just fall apart. Why make
them in the first place?
An empty, and actual eternity
is bigger than the biggest
Cathedral. Have you ever noticed
how close in sound actual and
sexual are? What if you say
F sub Exual. Look at how
"EFFECTS" relates "DIRECTLY"
to "ACTUAL" or "SEXUAL":
The mathematical concept of a
function expresses the intuitive
idea that one quantity (the argument
of the function, also known as
the input) completely determines
another quantity (the value,
or the output). What is
the actual function of the
world? To have sex or FX
with itself? The perfect
poem. An n-perfect world.