plagued by the routine; mundane and pristine,
regular schedules and post-it notes in a line,
across a screen of the ordered and the rigid,
they keep interest only by necessity and survival
of the weakest who are addicted and afflicted;
tormented and rejected by the most unlikely -
themselves - the disease of perfection;
a toxic infection that is clean and sterile
healed by the random, cured by disorder
make a mess, my friend; enjoy the impact
of clutter; take it out on the gas prices,
they are just for you, the end of the line -
the party you threw by yourself is over,
the hangover is here, but you never had
a lick of beer, the toilet is ever sterile
by the gags and retches of routine and disorder.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
that was a good one..i also liked this one..~Love Eva,