sick and delirious in bed at 2 in the afternoon
less great than the night before, did rant on
"when the time comes the poetry will die
as all things must go
pictured from minds cleaned, azure and adjective-less
we have heaved and trembled in
giving birth to this destruction
it's visage is horrible and it suffers none to live"
late on in the night
hypnos did creep into the tent of alexander
luxuries unseen and extravagances unimagined
he did ignore
to plant a solitary seed of dream
in the ear of the king
a dream of smog, of slavery, of ignorance.
a dream of ipods, overabundance and of slow sad decline.
a dream he did not wake from.