a half-hearted yearning
for a change in the weather
lightning strikes, not once
but twice
imagination now devoid of colour
a compromise
the cowardice of resignation
dirty tides
infinity now restricted
Art sucks. Poetry sucks. Everything is fucked. I suck. You suck. So if I am so anti-everything, why do I even bother "creating" anything? Well one has to do something with one's time. Welcome to my playground. I am the Dissident Poetician. Doing Poetician stuff is what i do. "Art is dead, don’t consume its corpse" - graffiti in the streets of Paris, May 68. Long live the spirit of May 68. Piss in the fountain of dada.
No comments:
Post a Comment