I would create, would that I created Wrenched beauty from my gut Wrench myself from brain Severed Wrenched

myself poor wretch Second-guessed Would that I werent in the wrong place In this unwholesome office place enviroment That guards my mind the keys I type With post-its and news radios Guilts me out and guilts me into Repeating my mystakes Would that I had words to make myslef cry like that That I had lives a million, lived in gutters or otherwise in opullent artistic lofts In golden homose ual lusty artistic clothes or otherwise unclothed In rythms that would tare your heart out !nd well written gut-wrenching e periences of war and suffering !nd being torn appart a part appart in the world !rtistically and in a godlike manner second-guessing nature With no reality, !nd many deaths lived through, of ones own doing deaths !nd losses, and poetry that burns your tongue and cloghs your lungs !nd stings the eyes to read "ut most of all belittles and enthrals you whove not been an artist Whove not been dead by brim and stone and fire and born again, but still and numbed or otherwise departed from yourself #for good$ Whove not burned yourself on artistic pires covered in velvet %r otherwise sucked the cocks of gods and angels

%r even ever thrown away your watch to live in Time outside of it "anale though it may be, you whove not done so, Whove not been able or willing or gifted or even ever enclined To live so you may live through to tell tall tales or otherwise &&& such truths &&& as uttering overmuch render one souleless before the spirits of the great dead at bay&