This is NOT
what I ordered,
Take it back and return it
when its right.
But like time and trails
it is right.
its right when
the guns fire.
Its right as innocent is led down
cold clammy staircases
to become a animal responding
by sense
to light or lack of
as the skies darken and
the currents changes
while we become a world of
our own doing
we bought into the shinny
'zoom, zoom'
bit the bitter pill that left us
with a everlasting boner
windows left open
while people peak in
like common thieves
who have noticed
a shade not pulled
'Wanna see something'
I reply, popping up
like a wind up box toy.
I stand naked
smiling, as a jaw drops and smashes like crystal.
broken faces, bandaged and damaged stare back
and talk amongst themselves
wondering if that was what they were
looking for...
I turn and leave them with a final zinger
'what aint math.. is art'
they just stand
and look.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem