Artless Spark

“Faking”, that’s a mode I dearly hate,
These rules, expressed as statements of non-sensical fact,
Jacked up by ruthless taciturn claptrap and an insensitive lack of
Dreams,
Cannot suffice for it seems the true rules are incentivated only by
Brutal slapstick
And trapdoors flapping invitingly in a land of artless lark.
“Taking”, that’s part of the empty truth,
Brash, lackluster, undelightful holes expressed in quanta of inverse
Matter,
Backed up by cruel and unrelenting kindness
And the heart cannot reach out beyond the heartlessness,
Lukewarm trick floors opening suddenly to some slippery dick art
“Breaking”.