Ode To Artaud - Poem by Robert Leary
Has the world become so incestually complex
that song no longer rhymes
that laughter is a sullen gesture to appease another
that being unique we're isolated
like one cube from another?
Is the heart frozen in a tube
to be shaken by a hand we do not see
forsaken to a destiny of prescription drugs
administered to a body
prescribed by lack of destiny
to endure a little longer
as if the truth be found in time...
Or is there something to say for patterns
that obviate from the past that say:
'listen to me or you will not last.'
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You