I hope my words are new to them
Maybe it’s selfish to wish
I was the only poet
And that if your words make them cry
Mine will break them in two

Machiavellian, I suppose
Subtle aggression through figures and lines
That say so little
Spaces hypnotize them, now I have an army
Maybe it’s unkind of me, a bit territorial

Life imitates art
But maybe it’s just the opposite
Art is animal
Art is bare
And creation is the backbone of survival