they told me that walking to the shop was best
done using a pair of old trainers.
that way I’d be able to walk with
a nice mold surrounding my feet.
I wouldn’t stumble and it wouldn’t hurt
to try and break them in.
much in the same way, they told me that
art is best with its first sketch, it’s pristine
raw drawing. that way the intentions
are clear and the emotions
they told me that to perfect a poem, you must first
start with a word you dislike, then build up, build up
build up, create the building, sculpt the sculpture.
they told me that I’m a madman living in a madman’s
world. maybe they’re right, but my feet didn’t hurt when
I walked to the shop. my art has been perfected and
I passed. this poem wasn’t perfected – and opinion
will divide it like a pizza.
but as for being a madman –
be careful what they tell you or you might
end up sane like me. unless you are,
in fact, they,
in which case – carry on spurting out
your madman perfectionist lies –
the madman world might listen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem