Focal Impulse and Training

One can spend one's one life
In a staredown with good and evil
Thumbs up or down on better, worse

That's a toilet toil 
Down the drain sight line
To be the ultimate valuator! 

There's a catch: you'll be meaning-free
The jury is only out for five minutes on the judge:
Guilty of a conspiracy to rob the self of spontaneous joy

You had help, from society and its instruments
Playing in this sad band
Your continuous funeral dirge

Digressions are the way out
Back to arbitrary criteria 
And away from those robes to naked glee

The living sleep snowfell, moonstruck, flowerspell
Illuminated by dreams that couldn't imagine 
A fine or ill distinction

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