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WORKING CLASS ZERO


by Mark Hartenbach



my machine chants
it's lunkhead mantra
skipping all
intimate details
in favour
of grandiose statements
that i sometimes
understand,
often do not try
. fire the bud up
when i want
to chew
on disputed notions,
when i need
to quiet
heaven down,
when i need
to assume a stance
& everything points
toward
falling
down.

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