Self does not exist, I say,
but we kept on talking to each other anyway.
All the while clouds shift and move -
giant white lawn mowers of the sky.
And God the great gardener of the sky
as the rain falls from his watering can.
Soul does not exist, I say,
but we kept on destroying them anyway.
All the while people are dominos
caught in random tragedies,
taken by bullets, by electricity
by everyday garden appliances.
Intellect, does not exist, I say,
but we kept on using logic and reason anyway.
All the while it rains in one part of the world
while it snows in another, a direct debt
is taken from someone’s bank account,
and someone chokes on a toffee.
Love, does not exist, I say,
but we kept on kissing anyway.
All the while trains shuttle past
graveyards, cars zoom through
puddles that spray passers by,
a blind woman walks in a flower garden.
Poetry, is shit, I say,
but I kept on writing anyway.
*Found a file full of old poems. Here is one. Wrote it in about 2004.