nevertheless tis be morning

with every number of frequencies rushing to gain control over the airwaves

flat thin screens with synthetic light become the master of my sight

not a flicker of life inside of me

just some leftover impulses that forced me to move



as I sit by the side of the road watching shiny metals move along like a stream of fishes hopelessly dragged by the current

what lies will I sell today

to be one of them?

in this internally rotten city

where true writers, musicians and painters are condemned sinners living in perpetual shame

everyone seems to be looking for meanings

in all the wrong places

for all the wrong purposes

we’re all teenagers assuming the role of the masters of the known universe

assuming wisdom contained in a jar of candy


it rained last night

they said the gale was merciless

we built puny structures in high places

and complain about the weather

sending truckloads of darkness in to the air

destroying everything hampering the way of our ignorance

here by the side of the road

I am wishing of a simple lonely melody

a painter by the far corner looking sadly to the masses of fools

and the true writer splattered on the asphalt



I long for the sunset.


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