a Flurry of Words

It’s all about me, don’t you think?

Thinking may raise Demons, Goddesses, the stink of Turd Town, built in another land.

Thinking is not feeling.

Thinking is crinkling my face and scrunching down to avoid day and night, the wind-carried ash,
landing like snow.

Here, we flush our solid waste.
Turd Town incinerates theirs’.

Which way is best, do you think?