Language is a
Big Lie
divided into
millions of little pieces
which can be strung together:
an infinity of monkey-kebabs.
I'm a poet with a beard
who has little interest in being read
and none at all in being heard.
When you are other
why bother ?
Consciousness is slow, unkind.
We and words are less than wind.
1 comment:
This is a genuinely beautiful poem written to make your readers think...A profound thought and an incredible gift to us. While sitting in front of my computer reading this blog, I realize I was born in the wrong place. Having always lived in these poverty stricken nations from Latin America, I doubt we will ever have any poet like you, capable of writing for the sole intention to arise emotions that can affect us in a way that our perception of reality can be changed, affecting us like a tragedy, so we can arise from that frozen state in which this consumerist society has left us hopelessly to believe in it.
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