I’m tracing shadows of my dead hair
On this dead sheet against a live lamp
Where my tired head floats somewhere in between.
There’s weight in emotion
And weight in thoughts
Ich schreibe Gedichte
But I can write poems.
I’ve consciously disregarded the full moon
And chose remote wastelands of statistics…
I’ve had everything calculated disregarded
Per chance to look forward to something better.
Spontaneity, overwhelmed with Serendipity
Are eventually… best savored rationally.
But not haunted as I am…