
When shit fights back like magic.
Truth
manifests
in all sort of things
unexpectedly.
It dances
it turns
it twists.
But the false.
particularly
the wrong.
and the shit.
They are
spinned out
out of orbit.
Just for a while,
for a little while,
to return back again.
Right on orbit
revamped, renewed
hijacking again.
And
for another while.
The truth of things,
the truth spirit of things
spin out of orbit.
Things decay into ugliness
the ugliness of rusty erosions.
Trapped in clichés
Intelligence made to repeat
old truths revamped as new.
Shit things scented with bliss.
And yet.
The raw shit
will return
right on orbit.
As another flavour of truth.
Nothing would be left to entropy
that is the conspiracy.
Even shit wants to escape it.
Who would
have thought.
That things
yes, things.
Dead things
foolish, dumb
shallow things.
Have a deeper secret.
They might not be
at all.
Eager to mollycoddle
with entropy.
The truth of things
and the shit of things.
They clean
They dirt
themselves.
To their hearts content.

