képek, betűk

the streetlights like phosphorescent strawberries,
in the late afternoon’s fingernails, a burden...
the world should be crumbling, thirsting
in some supplementary agony
hopes, hopes. You might watch the springs of irrationals
BURRRG! a positive fulfilment – up, down
whatever happens – it could be a purple cloud,
invasive green parrots in Manchester, OR
dark-red costumed, stepping biological machineries,
poisoned dust, decay, despair === but we get used to these
normal, everyday, SHIT, but we keep accustoming every
single, every single chain-bit of decadence
These ones here, or I – searching for a way in/out
Am I the only one who’s given up?
There remained nothing inside me, I am
mixed in, drowned – a man in socks
under the icy air’s transparent sparks
who assume: this is fucked. and smile,
who senses that he shouldn’t, like a stalker
the mad dog trudging beside the pack
whose spit into the mirror warps
into a snarl, and meanwhile forgets
days, months, and keeps accelerating
as if even death were a product
tagged and priced in the stores
like the ten-thousandth copy-pasted works
on galleries' walls, SOLD$$, soon replicated
by another, or like
yet another poet feigning depression
who thought he’d become Villon
because he woke up twice in a fog
and thought that was an enlightenment
I’m afraid of you all, of this shabby whatever
scared of the nameless world’s dreadful face,
I try to hide like foxes at night — I watch in fright,
though I’m no outsider, from within
I'm foreboding about what’s being built.
I fear all of this.