sous-titre

Maddening kinds of women now,
foreign and decimated, closed-nothing.
and what of me do they allow?

with our medication, nature begins to undo sunlight.
with our medication we can still get paid.
of course my currency isn’t the modern self.
the modern psyche-made.
and what of me is but a building?

original and nothing to sing,
maddening kinds of people now.
nothing to mind or disavow,
“blame,blame, we won’t create again,” the people lean.
liberated with lost minds composed of things to kill,
and what of me do they allow?
daunting even still.

but the whole will remain as structures.
broken to do, to say, to cling.
shook and pushed by the society.
with our medications, the society.
people are structures, the society.
medicated structures.
today will be fine, but how?

maddening kinds of constructions now.
the finality of the unfinished.
bulletholes are really just
and thing in the mind. A thing.

maddening men who sit or stand tall avow,
the structures are nothing, an early spring.
and today is another, but how?
the sunlight assumptions, the society.
the way they say, the society.

so these sunlit finalities,
these sunlit finalities are just
constructions.

and our sunlight medications are just
constructions.

mediocrity now,
and what of me do I allow?