Identity Curation (English)
SOMEONE ASKED IF I WRITE POETRY
*Universality* towards generational anxiety therefore the way it all works is incorrect pertaining to the wondrous altogether sides in the entire sayings oratories threading towards the entire slating generational creating tragedy after tragedy each word is another word each word is another word each word Is another word each word is another word and after the words there isn’t really a thing saying that we can do anything creating a-new saving afresh generating generational tragedy.
*Fleeting* ambiguity context-less enormity where it has nothing to show for itself at all but another trading trade-off trading words for other words and other words for them and other them for words so can it all be creating the thing for which it was created to just get the ways flowing and traditionalize the myriad ways in which ordinary ambiguities converge to create accidental tragedies anomalous creatures traveling throughout the landscape so that they can all be in a way the ultimate ambiguity.
*Creation* creating saying knowing no-ing now knowledge can be transferred save for a banality of appearances keeping up emergency to emergency where they can all emerge and say this is the man who has saved god from his own malice and stupidity today we can all say with freedom and grace tomorrow we cannot hide the next day we do not know yesterday.
*It* was all defined you had a name and an address and a identity today it is all cold nobody heard nobody said nobody knew you haven’t died you haven’t been born you weren’t even there to begin with nothing can be more banal ordinary save for a fleeting begging sitting on the subway steps in this way an argument can be made claiming the way is to be found and claiming the directionless journey for itself, though thought thought itself to be through with thou the watery direction of the strong seeking the generalization of the week allowing strength to preserver
*Through* no fault of its own allegiance has been maligned amongst consistent traditions being that it could not save its own from betrayal it was thought to have betrayed itself thus nullifying itself and rendering all the worlds committed, the only one who know is hope’s lost child wandering through the desert with wonder and wander winder has it this is no way to be alive this is no way to be alive this is no way to be alive this is no way to be alive this is no way to be alive this is no way to be alive this is not a way.
*Crushing* funeral wreaths laid at the head of sorrow created the illusion it was dealing with something though legend has it was replaced by mercy killing its sister having undone beauty.
This game is too complicated to play.
and the rules cannot be counted.
Moving on the fly and changing by whim.
and money is not the answer.
Now we know we were playing at the wrong one,
and about the players we know nothing.
Words and principles try to stand out
and they block other permutations
Why would anyone keep score
and do tombstones allow scrabble pieces.
Have you lived —
On a numbered avenue,
Did you wonder, can I walk them all the way down to number zero,
or all the way up, to infinity?
Have you noticed
A hole in the ground, wondered
Can I dig all the way through?
Have you peered down the middle
Of a tree lined boulevard,
asked yourself
Is there really a place,
Where the road stops, leaving only trees?
Did you walk,
alongside the ocean
Craned your eyes to see
The beach across?
Did you write,
A poem in verse
Wished all words to come
Continue this rhyme?
Have you lived?
I knew a man
He survived the camps
on his good looks.
Can I survive a party
On mine?
One boy’s blue eyes
found him favor
with the Nazis.
Can mine find me luck
With you?
One’s fair hair
passed him right
At a selection.
Will you
Swipe me right?
We’ll consummate
at the crematorium of desire
Set love free
In a smoking chimney
of the burning temple.
The end.