Tags
Dada, fotografie, gedicht, philosophy, photography, poetry, poezie, society
Hey, you:
Is it true you read, this, and the next
words and written thoughts, wrought
by sleeplessness, insomnia and sorrow.
Since this rotten world is consumed by
maggots, some with guns, the others
driven by envy, none silenced by having
to sit behind a Triumph, a Remington,
(mine is an Erika from the GDR) but
shouting on X, like crazy birds.
Who has control over the red button,
that will stop nonsense and sense alike,
in one sudden instance.
Aye, the worst dreams came true
arriving both from the east and west,
their messages driving holes like tubes
drawn by bullets in grey matter: cheese
it has become, infected by the craziness
of bulls – they must be bulls – that
disguised themselves as double burgers with
mayonnaise.
Now my cramped fingers find the words
silence and peace and know these must
differ from sleep without dreams.
Drager Meurtant, Dec 25, 2023 – Dec 12, 2024
drager-meurtant 