Haven't written in ages,
and the rages are dead - meat!
I am definitively disappearing
from what's what,
and thoughts,
if they come,
and I can't be sure,
if I ever even had one,
or some?
bad things that words
won't chew,
to shape this ill fitting
thing I carry with me,
results, or desultoryness,
this necessity for personal greed,
feeds still,
I wan't everything to come down...
not worth the spittle for some
old
shoe,
whatsnew?
I polish myself
ye know!
and persist to tear the shine off,
got to look, like it was meant!
get it...
if not in that moment,
then the very next,
when I outwit
what it is in my blood,
unrecorded, motion bound,
borne from nothing
but this unselfing,
forged!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem