Poem by Mark Leahy

FROM ACHIEVING OCCUPANCY

Here we go back to the early 1980s. Dallas
is now considered a classic cautionary tale where lower
cost religion it is claimed does not necessarily correspond
to the real globalist risk. Rather we are converted,
as again, she sings: Mamma Mia! It seems the
designers of men’s undergarments have shown themselves to be
more managers than competitors, as a type of artificial
intelligence system compels them to say “I don’t love
you,” making small motions in front of their faces.

I'm sure the dictates of political economy, all those
spiffy touch-menu systems, that from an external point of
view include micro-flows of uncontrollable compulsion to produce, leave
you personally affected. Therefore, the agent of evolution is
not simply some actor that failed to notice their
neural activity while being subordinated entirely to base molecular
matter. When they were speaking, I continued to produce
my dinner, watching “Tina Turner in Concert.” This critter’s
a pop singer, or something equivalent in a network.

“Play near the wall because you are not clear,”
became “Play, Play” multiple times, from their set sentences.
After more than a very few selections, the industry
is morphing, too, to reproduce itself, as a kind
of bubblegum populist take on the brain activity data,
for Capital, with its inescapable drive, suggests it’s the
latter. Will Robin wear the struggle at stake? Not
only through brands of each spoken sentence (a Protestant
school play) read aloud as part of the activity.

The Gilets Jaunes’ Solutionwear could soon be the only
one with anything on it, like nuclear war in
the song by Meryl Streep. As long as the
compulsions of bio-engineered pandemics incorporate a men’s version they
must commute the Senate bill on production of components
for “green energy” sources. Although “junketeers” implies the former,
the UN operator looks to hold you in line
while using SKIMS, but the power employed is always
as like a gorilla as to a live hand.