I knew that there would always be something to write about,
that is why I started this;
thing is
does there need to be interest in me for me to write?
Does a tree always need an ear?
After all, that is what I preach, right?
About artistic creative solitude, right?
Are the symmetrical patterns of cars and traffic that intriguing?
Is it even worth continuing this poem long after I am bored with it?
Drink my coffee, breathe thick air biting like mosquitos.
Clever, I think, until I look down at the fire-red brail;
Bump the table, shaking, both the table and I, spilling my coffee
Words and numbers everywhere, prices changing daily
There is nothing stable anymore because the awakening has already begun
So, does it really matter that I created this simply to create it?
And that it’s not really about anything in particular?
af
(written with pen on paper, thinking and spacey, as always)
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