beggars of the world
arrogant and praised
shooting cum on
the unclean field
the fucking nonsense
of Shantideva
and all that other
bullshit ball-tickling
nonsense
the loves of Jupiter
disguised as swans
no source
no meaning
so just stop it
silly
crackhead harpsichord
shape with colour
Blue John
aspiration
your hips won’t matter
when you are
incinerated like a dove
dunked on by
your own repulsive
weakness
instead cherish
the colors and sounds
the textures and tastes
your immediate sensation
nothing else
matters
all thought is
bullshit