A Typical Superstitious Bother

For a hunchback loudmouth with a laptop and too much to say,
Superstition is the hat
the idiot I hate
Is alway wearing.

Practical and as dictated as it can be,
Our written language can only guess
At how impractical
The Typist can be.

And how aware
And unyielding
The dumbfuck in the
"Im scared of the nothing something"
Hat
Can begin
Can continue
To lay down the world in bent and agreed upon code,
Only to shrug his practice of creation
To take an extra step
And yield to the apex of every ladder's crest.

It isnt fear,
But a prayer
To the "I hope I'm a nothing something too"
That guides my step
And keeps me believing in these thin
Black
Bent shapes.