we want creases above our eyelids, not beside, and definitely not beside our mouths, no evidence of joy beaten on our faces.
it was a torrent i wanted to pluck and
fix onto my head, heavy cloud crown
weeping prussian ash down my skull
pooling past my bare eyes.
it waa a torrent and i reached up for
my fingers to land on soft air
the thundering mass wafting away into dissipation.
i did consider the stars in the sky, i did.
why would i be afraid?
hevel, hevel, i heaved and breathed
sour smoke into the room.
grey plume feathered into sparkling white
and prickled eyes cleared a crystal jordan
in measured lines down the sinful pores
of my fresh, unturned cheeks.
i'm not afraid,
whom then shall i fear?
i don't understand,
how can humans be
and then produce the manmade
as if it has no life essence in it on its own
like its creator? producer? reproducer-recycler?
there's the answer.
there's your- my?
YOU ARE READING
i'll never be a poet
Poezjaand here's the pretentious proof an ongoing anthology of the poetry of nobodi.
