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Spaghetti knots

tend to lend

when i was a poet

writing poetry

i’d have good things to say


about all the bad

like how to kill your mother

by falling in love with your father

who would never want you anyways

a fact that ruined your abandoned orphaned ma

wishing only the best for you

the reverse of what you am and are

but mostly aren’t

cut in half

never resting

never whole

a bit a ch

a bas a tard


about the woman that’ll

take up all the room where the others

will eventually sit as birds in an aquarium

trying to vacate the space

but they do not like the cracks

and the floor has the grooving of steps in them

and these walls are littered with handprints

that he refuses to wash off

that he calls unintentional art

that my hands or his do not fit in

at least

not any longer


about drunks that thought of quitting

but thought better of it


about sobers who thought of starting

but thought worse of it


about me

both right now

both wrong now


about the places where pierced armor goes

where a heart will break

where the brain knows that this is factually impossible

where the heart breaks again as a result


about the homeless woman remembering

a childhood inside a bed shaped as a racecar

with cars crumbling by as birds

and the exhaust does not choke up the sky

into tears that make all things blank

once more


about factories shipping out emptiness

schools closing and jails opening up

about a decay that will be the only thing

that lasts


about how all of this will lead to a rise of the dead

where the rich will watch from above

while the poor deride other poor for their poor conditions

for they are easy to see right there

in the mirror of hallow houses

poisoned polluted pissed on

by the clouds


about a school boy who wishes to become a doctor

because they help people

but who is soon slaughtered by a 56 year old

who died many times in those little toying years

but not with the boy


about the senselessness of going anywhere

which is not where anywhere goes

including me

who wishes to quote the gods

but finds them still speaking of socrates

who spoke of me then

a mere mortal man

who will blame things on the other things

that he was not a part of

though that have led him to this

hope of some good

despite it all

because of it all

with it all

even if all

is not good

About kacperniburski

I am searching for something in between the letters. Follow my wordpress or my IG (@_kenkan)


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