Please create me before the potato becomes my head
I have become one of the million insane poets
Or the bar fly that gathers information
You will never be bigger than the day you are born
Except the day that you die
So the fear of life becomes pain
And you become a weapon of some sort
Concrete floors remain a desert of instability throughout the day
Your perfection is carried off like a carcass by wolves
In the deepest snow you will ever know
Penetration of lies on the white screen are a comfort?
And your pen if it still exists is an anesthesia for your frontal lobe
The brilliance of our work is replication
Merely shadows of stars