Why can't I be paid to be poetic with images?
I have tricked my mind for a mottled house
Into bottled thought like leopard-skin
You love me as moons
Shatter the beauty of sunlight
Into thousand starlight
Why isn't the Blake-light, true?
The automobile blood is power
A city fire except the sign stares for hours at night
From outside terrorized tower which was gleaming
Why can't I live on forever with my lines?
With English and carry out my lyric, blindly
I write my mind, and I will drive politics, effusively
So, why can't I write?
Ravenous hunger eats inside at her aching limbs
My mind is numb without choice
I feel dumb without a voice
I am no politician to speak for her
Why can't I write for my lover?
I go for the smoke, upstairs
An upstanding man to my dark-skinned friend
She is drunk with ***** and cigarette ends
In a war with clocks and arguing, pugnacious
She will save me from ****** ******
While I think of cure and release from fools
Thinking of only you
You! Without the mad drunken ******* at the silver spoon
My biography is decided too
So, why can't I write for my dying riches and mind?
Why can't I find the newest moon
Where the moon, often, hides?