Every Assumption Is Wrong

Buddy held a spot

At two fifty six.

Two fifty seven was an ass.

Two fifty five had plenty of style

But nothing even close to class.

Everyone in Buddy’s circle

Had a million ways to think.

But everyone in that circle

Teetered on the center’s brink

The brink of following

Following the Following

Like two fucking fifty eight.

Every point of view the same.

And every damn point must wait.

To hear from the previous.

Who already took the bait.

They all bought it line and sinker.

Chased that line so close

The only pride was deep inside

Where every point would boast,

We all see so many points of view!

But they do not see the host…