A lost child, Absurdists

Absurdists is a lost child. A boss
of hosts inglorious. Absurdists is a
treasure chest; don't look too close
at her vest--bulletproof; besides, (&
to the point) her mescaline buds are
sprouting.

Further the argument
is not what
we here do. Father.
Farther.

I do not want to replace
but I only a place to replace
ordinary reflections with real boys,
with real ones, real iron words
that strike at the heart of enemies,
make them cowards, then maybe,
make them friends.

Love transcends. How can we otherwise
explain? Anything?

Much of it I agree is bad, a waste of time.
Some of it is good. But isn't that just life?
Powders 22A-33C on faces of people we don't know
are forgotten, right? But the 9,875th girl you meet--
maybe she's the right one. The numbers game
is absurd--it means the best shall appear but when
it is given time. There cannot be too much censorship
or maybe any
if the best is to bloom. The numbers game. Maybe one in five
is worthwhile. Maybe 1/10. Maybe 1/20. Still worth it. The
real crime is the not sharing of it, if it is to be shared. If it is
worthwhile. What is this? Are we in a hole debating the nature
of the soil granules? Maybe. I just want to share
weird thoughts. I have given no effort to make Absurdists
a thing that fits in, that has traction. Is that its beauty?
Is that its angst? Its fetid irrelevant glory? Its fetid
irrelevant waste? Worthless?
Growth.