bad poem

[W.A.S.T.E.]

In dreams and dreams and dreams I dare devise the death of dying,
and the blindness to the bosons and the giving to a god—reaping effluviums
of life wasted on the sowing of
maybies
and sometimesies
and hopefullies—seeking speaking squeaking
to the mind-imagined glory of infinity of soul:
its not time, its not time for fecund soil filled with
candy luminous toil and an earthly growing toll.
In life and life and life I live to leave a life of lying,
and the deafness to the doldrums, and the giving to a dog—
its real
real
real
to feel the pain of almost dying almost crying
to nightsky full of candy stuck to space-time out there right here
in front of you bent by mass—
truth is truth is truth is truth ‘til man n’ mind
devise the death of trying, and a glimpse of the gluons,
and empty space-time out there right here with no face
of anything saying be fruitful and multiply, replenish earth
with dominion over everything so it shall be and it is all
very good, my work.