Perfection of Neuromarketed Solitude


44

It’s so simple/
To wake up a lonely man enough
Until it becomes the only possibility
I’ll work hard all day

A new leader of destiny/
With the concise grief
Of weeping men, I’ll take it
Sow a dynasty, cheat fate

In the freedom of my pilgrimage/
Hardened, I’ll build a lonely country
Where I am both, President and Serf
I’ll break from love &

I’ll scorn fraternity/
Float my soul in my own cherry wine
It’s so simple
That’s what this world is coming to

I’ll polish my own tongue/
With kisses for melodious memories
That’s I’ll invent
Like a virtual network

Of my own imagination/
There will be brown petals of fire
Around my acts, circling my poems
My cattle will be the milk of muses

Like layers of autumn leaves/
Of all the beauty I shall witness
Something forgets in me, to count on others
It’s so simple

To wake up a lonely man/
And accept it all, perfectly.

The Death of Love


34

Now we return to what we were
A solitude, very gentle, very dear
It’s all I have, like an animal without
The language of love, primal

So instead, I fall consistently –
In love with words, like little vows
That I will write again, to live
Now I return to what I am

A solitude, an oracle of isolated inner beauty
There will be no prophecies which wash
Over the night, or rise at Noon
Only, the little gains of meditation

A finality to be invisible
Or create autonomy as an order of survival
The earth has vanished, I am alone
Nothing proves I am alive

I become transparently slowly rippling
My years away, though I’ve
Come to cherish them, tenderly
They say at the threshold of birth

We come into the world alone
Now I’ve come to terms with certain things
Like birth and death, and the necessity
Of loving or falling back to only, loving ourselves.