they invited me to a party that they know
i will never attend
it is my ego
it was once hurt and it still refuses to be cured
it is the cancer of this society
going crazy over the smell of the masses that pretend to like it
and yet
when the back is behind another one's back
pressed against the wall
and on dead end streets
it breaks out in laughter and says
this man believes us
we were only joking
we have our own agenda
after those lectures we have our minds and visions
we do not want to be like him
a loser
the fingers of corruption are at work again
the party goers love its caressing flesh sending the sensations
of luxury
that everyone loves
one blows the whistle and the party however
goes on and on and on
i am out
there is no party within me.
These are poetic experiments. Man's quest for the poetic element never ceases. He is always caught in the eye of awe. He does not make the rules now. The rules change depending on the emotion that time and space feed him. He must see everything with his wide eyes gaping. The beginning of poetry too, like philosophy is wonder. Look and see. Do not stop wondering You are the poet. And everything is poetry. Wonder. Wander.
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