Part of thinking is its cruelty,
aside from its contents.
It is the process itself that is cruel,
the process of detachment from everything else,
the ripping, the wrenching, the sharpness of cutting
They says nothing,
but how they explain it
Thoughts like detritus. Thoughts like lava. Thoughts like rain.
One never takes raging people seriously enough.
It is only when thousands copy their raging that one respectfully perks up one's ears;
but it is precisely at this point that one should maintain an icy coldness.
I am. I am not. Humankind's new counting game.