I won’t speak of love

That ****** exhausted joke

Pretentious those whose spirits flow

To chase the funky adventure

They speak of love

Like it’s the fingerprint of their palm

Reeking residue of pompous ways

Ridiculous their pursuits

Bedazzled illusion so little serves

Once the twirling dervishes have gone

Bedraggled bewildered you shall be

Was that hazed existence really me?