i dont have to apologize to fucking anyone

there are critics who would give me 5.8 on the ten scale

i would kill to drink wine comfortably

many words printed, a million copies

dusted in the attic of the forgotten

sometimes i feel like a pale mediocrity,

inconvenient and ugly

astringent to the eyes

of which in the city, no one makes any contact

with

a supposed window of a soul

and such a vacant view

pleading cultures of penitence

fall upon muffled ears of deafness

and to what fate must we surrender?



there is a beauty in simplicity,

in unexpectedness, in honesty

it is the simple things that have been forgotten,

like a birdsong or a morning sun

which have been replaced by the bitterness of the masses

the poisoning of our consciousness

with multi-million dollar fad campaigns

penetrating, inevitable,

mindlessly influential

diverting from the essence of life-

a divine experience

in which judgment cannot be passed,

in which time cannot be measured,

in which nor can the value of a life

but there is purity in simplicity,

something we have ignored impassibly

bothering ourselves with the conquest

of an illusory contest

jaded we stride up escalators

and wait patiently for the grater

to approach