We are just self-proclaimed poets ·
The Lyra strings are all broken
What if the language disassembled
In pieces
We can no longer afford to put
Together
Who would vouch for us;
There is never silence in the living ·
Every subatomic wave lives
What if I didn’t turn on the fan to hush up
The noise
Of existence;
Would I listen to the sound
Without looking at the grain;
There’s someone in the unknown sky
Who has been turning the noise on all along ·
It is perpetually monotone.
But O how I love jazz;
What if I painted a Violet little dot in
Every flag;
Poetry should become law ·
The laurel in a gold that never fades
What if life is no more than a
Thought;
The more we think · the more it becomes
What if we cut the cohesion off language;
I would if I won’t, but I will will ·
A point of view as lopsided as this
What if the past ever happens to see the future ·
Directly, in our worldly manner,
Would time
Stop;
Alien Buddha Press 