How many seconds make something smaller?
Firsts carry the mythical weight of victorious gold.
Sold? Higher bidder? Whose signature? Under 
which authority shall the umbrella deflect assertions?
Idle demands are the usurious luxuries of the already
gotten, whose boots are for show only, and their hills
climbed are helicopter assist. E-strike matches for
robot wildfires: trees compete with technology
to breathe the last of our air. Again, whose? 
A question of eminence, domination, and
the structures of personal nonsense that
carry the world in a jar. Jelly got its 
peanut allergy while crushed between
two slices and a pair of hands - take
what you can get wriggled into the
stomach lining and cramped and 
stamped and vamped from 
simplicity to time is walking out.

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