On the muddy avenue I picked up a poet's gaze
on which the indifferent crowd wipped out its thoughts .
Actor in a human comedy where you invent a role
to forget your organic heaviness ...
poor scribbler, your words are nothing
but inanimate objects with no soul and no return ...
Dreams melting in the rain like ice cream
thrown at wounded teddy bears, annoy me ...
I don't like lovers turning public benches
into dribbling kingdoms ,
and clowns who think they're human
when they're just poodles in love ...
Illusions of a crippled wooden horse
enucleated porcelain doll ...
On the bloody avenue ,a snipper
sweeps the fallen leaves ...
I 'm alone on crime boulevard .
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Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: March 4th, 2024 10:24
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Online)
Comments2
Intriguing
In poetry I don't trust !
La poésie est le pont que le poète construit sur l'abîme de sa frustration.
le ''cercle des scribouillards de chat j'ai pété ! '' recrute !
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