We can do so much or so little.
The button of these new overalls won’t fit.
Produced, manufactured, stitched
The hole is bound.
Before binding we measure.
The measure is susceptible to human error.
yet, measures are not what they seem.
Do you, or I, myself, know it wasn’t the fault of a machine.
The button has force but only through my body, my fingers my energy.
Hands that once forced buttons through tight holes are skeletons.
Skeletons killing skeletons is the fact of the matter.
300 bones at birth fuse together to make 206. 206 bones learn through the environment.
The splendors of life decomposing.
The degradation of one’s ability to choose the measure, the amount of force needed to get the button through its hole.
If you fear your overalls won’t fit you push harder.
Strap up and strap in or stagnation, transient thought of fabric pushback upon the first attempt of this action.
Whether the machine was off the count or the hand may we pounder.
What must you think of your counterpart?
The button can not speak; no mouth it was given. No bones, no face, no nothing like you, I, Me, We, All are.
300 bones don’t fuse to 206 to become organic matter by such forceful thoughtlessness.
See 206 took, the process, 206 took.
211 cant decipher through the receiver Where to route the calls. 206 bones become 412 at the moment of conception to being 270 to breath.
Fingers learn skills through cognition; family patterns and out of systems 206 bones.
The manufactures pick; price, worth, and gloating prosperity. Manufactures are not ghosts in presents. 206 bones they take skill them to slay; skillful systematic- targeted beyond belief.
206 bones cant breath – 206 bones feel eyes burnt – 206 bones plead – 206 bones proclaim don’t fear me I’m here to protect not manufactured to oblige to cries.
Bones attempt to write the manufacture – 206 bones are sent back copies of the manuals and procedures.
We tear it up, burn the book. We demand refunds on 206.
The fight will continue until a new skill is fabricated- we will die trying. We are hunting for gold with eyes wide shut. yet, we cant equate the power of many hands belonging to bling owners in unison searching; to the gaze of their eyes projecting power.
Fools handing us the book thinking we can’t rewrite our history- this many hands not need eyes, digging our graves, the graves of those manufacturers took to you to die.
This many hands not need eyes to see.