Surrounded by things, obsessed
with passing things
enclose yourself in these things
except for the moments
when really have to breathe.
For most, poetry
begins with the sound of cars
in the morning and
ends up with a TV show
(before sleeping). But they
don’t use this word,
they call it everyday life.
I understand the ones who
don’t like the word, poetry.
It’s dangerous enterprise.
Once you start doing it
there is no way out.
How right you are, the city is full of us poisoned by polluted air starring into screens and tapping in banality!
Comment by Christin on 11 July, 2017 at 8:46 am