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Confronting Anti-Concrete
So once upon a time— Once— Hello, Anti-concrete. Telling me everything about this world of disparity. There is no mystery. Everything I ever knew is different now. But I guess times change. So I was wrong. Repetition mutates into this. Telling me this didn’t just start yesterday and Yes— silly child, God is dead, today won’t change it, won’t change anything. Yes. There are no reasons anymore. I’m learning not to ask— but this I have to question. And you are cold and cruel. The world you say is inoperable. Yet somehow, There was once a world— I want to be you, just what I don’t understand. My Anti-concrete, called irony. Because there are no miracles in (if only) the answers. Doesn’t matter. There is no hope. You: more clever more they say You would have had a sad sort of humor. I am still a child even if I want to understand. And you know it. Yes, jealousy. Wanting wonder and prayers, dear jealousy, doubting wanting and being done. |
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Confronting Anti-Concrete
5.29.03 |