The poem
Let us invoke a healthy heart-breaking Towards the horrible world: Let us say 0 poor people How can they help being so absurd, Misguided, abused, misled?
With unsifted saving graces jostling about On a mucky medley of needs, Like love-lit shit, Year after cyclic year The unidentifiable flying god is missed.
Emotions sit in their heads disguised as judges, Or are twisted to look like mathematical formulae, And only a scarce god-given scientist notices His trembling lip melting the heart of the rat.
Whoever gave us the idea somebody loved us? Far in our wounded depths faint memories cry, A vision flickers below subliminally But immanence looms unbearably: TURN IT OFF! they hiss.