Corpuscles of highlight,
Hinged in all directions.
Bodies in twilight,
Twinge of evanescence.
Only in life
Does one name
Self-absorbed friendships
In this great Rage.
Where we build dreams
And gain steam,
Where we knead
The unkeadable need.
Where children dance
The essential starlight,
Of resource rage
And existential heights.
It is here,
Where empathy abounds
And the gift of tolerance
Proceeds and rounds.
It is, and only It,
The dot-like plenum
Stream bearing down
Face it.
We love You.
IS/BE
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2 comments:
This is clearly a bad poem, so why doesn't anyone tell me!?
the poem is very auto-biographical, in a group sense, using a lot of carlos cliche-isms, but it's you dude, that is certain, just do a spell check next time. Shit, maybe I'll go in and do it myself....
jc
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