TRANCE
the sticking stuff
is bankrupt / the churchs
have been fleec’d / their pockets
turned out / two old men
are drunk in the alley
perhaps
it is eliot and marx weeping / like bulbs
of an hour glass
theresacrowdscreaminginmyheadamob
ofspiesdroolingovermybooks
there is no fusion of elements / we are
not units but systems / our poetry is
like digestion / we are meshed
in the veil of maya / falling through
the eternal yawn / devoured by
time / we seek some break from this lease
in our head
whentheresnothinglefttohopeforitisthenthatwe
willbegintoconsumeourselves
the dead
do not rise / the living
do not age
they are
mollested by terror / we lust for
the golden age , fools’ gold / we whimper like
old dogs for some gesture / we seek applause
on an empty stage
in an empty hall
with empty words
iveacquiredatasteformyselfitbeganwithmy
fingernailsandendedwithmyheart
…………………..
This is the end…
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