Sanity the coven of stereotypes
We know our delusions so well
Pierced earrings of the erotic theater
Staircase as dark as self knowing
Your brother bleeds while you rise
You win and everyone else loses
Dress like the western myth
Martin Luther King was noble
Driven inward with a million questions
Lazarus died twice
Has your street been hit with doubt
Mozart wrote his music in bed
Art is the madness of libido
Deep hidden unrequited unity
Canvas of light in the relative world
Values within the new Knight
She loves an illusion with a name
Consciousness is too painful
Valley of jealousy like a silk dress
Shrill voice of a dream without a dream
Where are the real rabbits
Letting go of the old profiles
Cringing to what we were
At what we hid behind
Thinking we were givers
Now realizing we wanted vanity
Our love possessive
Cripples of the little crowd
Our ways so laden with fear
The proud pugnacious mask
Growth is a requiem
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem