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Is the dead flat mouse really waving its claw at me or is the claw just moving in the wind? Who do I think is going to answer these raving questions that I ask over and over again? What madness repetition is this typing and questioning? The dead flat mouse on the cracked hot pavement knows no answers or questioning Is it more dead than I am? There's no stink, just a heat drenched wind moving an indifferent branch I could be gorged on hatred and raging stupidity, but I am too worn through to care or subsist on the diet of molten misery 

Yours in copyrighted misanthropy, 

Count Robot