Yo, you morons!
You’re going to die in the mall,
with sweaters with reindeers in paper bags,
sipping from cardboard glasses,
standing in line for socks.
You’re standing in line waiting for life.
You poor bastards!
And me too alongside you, from time to time.
When songs are sung
and soothe;
When drunk fathers end
on their feet,
while mothers with paper palms
wither
from so much scrubbing…
You poor bastards!
When plays are played
with the Soul on the tray,
while you scroll into your nothingness…
You poor bastards!
When Brâncuși sits
quietly
in the silence here
and beyond the Gate,
while you scratch your head
stupidly…
When prayers rise
and no one hears them
in the soul next to him;
but HE hears them
and cares,
but there’s nothing he can do for you,
ever since he gave you for Christmas
not sweaters with reindeers, but Free will!
Which you consume absurdly
standing in line for socks.
You’re standing in line waiting for life,
You poor bastards!
