to love a poet
is to admit the world
is tragic

Come to the well of your
Existence and draw the nothingness
Of reality; anguish there.
A chaotic order in the répétitions,
Lost in the cries, deafening-
Open the enslaved mind
And convince yourself
Of the righteous ignorance;
You are bitten by the shallow
Thought and driven by an
Empty success, grow bitter there.

And once you are unfulfilled
Rage against the spaces
Of each regret,
Set them ablaze with the desire
That makes dreams fickle
And rich men hold dear to paper,
Free yourself from everyday
And know you are the eternal
Wonder of your perception.

I am an old-fashioned ****
that is trapped in a cyber,
instant millenial era
I want to profess my love
to you over the airwaves
sandwiched between
blue monday, common people
and have a picnic at the park
crisps, juices and dog barks
are the only precious things
that will lift our spirits on
every days that are like sundays
when peace has failed to fulfill
the entire notion of an idle landfill
I want to march against the tyrant
and be with Jeremy and Malcolm
at the front, resisting the Krokodils
and defend the wall in Berlin
from falling all over this sacred land.

But now here I am,

scrolling through all
the madness, loneliness
desperation of a generation
following through the routines
that will not fail to appear as
fake, ignorance,
foolish, blood smeared
and expressing my emotions
over it is the most that I can do
posting on what I believe
is the best that I can do.

We are all dead, buried
**** into the lively deathbed
and the funny part is
we are all livid and sad,

At the same time,
all at the same time.