| Written: SEPT 17, 2003 |
I am unsure if I am even as good
As that of the third remove from that of Ideas.
With my poetics of myself,
One whom is not even the him that mimics
The Self.
In this heathen democracy I lie stained and empty;
Could it be that this is the cause for my degraded self?
For I am surely blessed in my academic being,
With my reason surely to the fore.
Bereft of properties I lie in vague untruths;
As madmen like us bear no rights.
God give me stable realities,
For the unattainable threats to crush
My eight-legged soul.
This perishing web would not endure
And I fear the end, the union with my brother.
Wait for me my dear blood half,
And give my regards to my loved ones.
We’ll be together in the end.
