If you wonder why I do not run to your dream like
scathing gates of a new tomorrow,
If you wonder why I prefer the streams that run
backwards uphill like a tiger dripping through forests at dawn,
My words tumbling out in torrents of nonsense and dreamy dissembled cataracts,
It is because I have seen a dawn of assembled laziness
Actively building a playground of monkeys and dreams,
A vertical nightmare toppled among the lush fragrance
of flowers dripping with the most delightful poisons.
To sip of the petals fills the mouth with an almost fatal sweetness,
Intoxicating honeys of insurrection,
In one hand the molotov cocktail, in the other the elixir of dreams.
“Do not wait,” I was told, “do not wait for the day,
For your own dance which blows away cops brings the dawn.”
And your dreams are too mild and pale for me,
smothered in the fear of the blood that may
spill when we make the world our own.
No comments:
Post a Comment