.................Of this I know
as sky triumphs over rain,
the central theme in man,
of this I know
this feeling eats one alive,
leaves one without gut,
without eyes,
without name.
Indulge in it not
lest you are left half-eaten
in man's time, and God's eye.
Your poems are vapidity,
thin as steam
and without the substance
of the most fleeting thought;
your poems are nothingness,
as anger is nothingness.
Envy is poison.
What happens to
the color green
in other segments,
in other forms?
There is a repulsiveness,
there is a strange pain,
to kill, to kill,
to grow spite
like spite is its own
gnarled tree of life;
evil green eyes
come to no special place,
no awareness now.
If the earth gives in, soil and flesh,
evil green eyes have buried themselves, again.