Lost illusions

Single traveler between four walls 

and  down-and-out  zone ,

mirror without  response ,

questions deprived of reflections .

Poor abandoned pain-pusher

on a polluted island 

between  a cup of coffee

and a boatload of  wrecked words.

Unshaven Robinson who saw himself

as conquistador of golden empires

and submissive creatures..

Your glorious  expeditions ,

 are only race of a rat ,

entangled on the starting line.

 Dude at the entrance to the metro,

your genius begging for a hangout,

the crowd contemplating your face

without reading your despair .

The butts are laughing at you,

in way of Nobel, a reminder 

from the finance department 

that humiliates your versification

and holey's pocket inspiration...

In your haven of cold pizza 

and empty  cans  concertina,

you drop the ink  as lethal anchor ,

on the blank of your toilets ,writing 

in depressed  letters :  

'' In poetry I don't trust ! ''