there are artists who form an intricate knot
between colourful skeins of history
that
elegantly sum up their time;
more often than not; themselves struggling flies
in the center of a miserable
web,
the spirits have left the trees;
meaning has become ideology;
erosion of
our will through uselessness
we are the the milk cows of our time
our small lives; our small sheds
sudden
noise rouses thought
war makes its opposition.
bleed it white.
your
nose and mouth are pinched shut.
