The Prophet in Me

I’ve driven myself mad

With the world like a Prophet

To nobody, I am not special

 

With my private ardor

For poems and the eyes of peacocks

All this worshiping

 

Will bring me nothing

Dots, like lost saviors

Lines, like hollow martyrs

 

I resign myself to poverty

And horrible lethargy

A vast elegy of dissonance

 

I’ve driven myself mad

With hope and anvils

I’ve unfinished and extended myself

With water and disquietude.