is true, I hate the pettiness
of shadows uncircumcised
staining
city of detachment and indifference.
I hate not being able to cross the ingenuity of sanity
on a zebra crossing
when it turns amber.
frustrate me
lights that illuminate my head
and will not let me pass by.
unnoticed among the noise,
the gates of this world with barriers, prison
inhibits my freedom.
Although I always will be a poem written
-by-
in dim light and smoke condensate
remind me orgasmic
what are your kisses.
But what are the keys on my machine as I write verses
improvised
rhythm of birds
wet
certifying the praise of folly,
eternal journey without a return ticket.
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