Then there was that

Random as it may sound to its headless instinct
And sought right down below to its deepest precinct

The memory of collective notions from my mindless thoughts
What belligerence it ought not to have forgot to tie some meaningful knots

There is no mastery to ones own limitations to limitless thoughts
Rather there should be some definitions to some kind of an art of this sort

To the Mind's, less in motion and its perpetual existence that carry us lots
Of the meandering dreamy surreality around us and the purposefulness to us glottal bots

Speaking of no spatiality in this contentious clot
There is no sublimation on the planes of whether or not

It has to stop,it has to stop...