Member-only story
Authentic Poetry In Motion..
The milky way was clear, so I walked with muddy boots. The canvas said: “Walk freely just Küss mich süß”
The girl next door was nice, I pssssssed her ear, she said: “I don’t listen to secrets, next please”
The pickpocket reched my sand-bag of 30 kilos. I told him: “It’s all yours. Build a house made of lies, but homemade”
The bank asked for my signature so I signed my spare passport picture and left my sailor’s number. They called: “This phone is only for urgent cases”
The world said: “Hey kid, why don’t you grow up and serve the collective good” The kid: “I do collect goodies and you”
The mother baked their favorite bread but they were hypontized by the new game on the 100inch screen: “Pac-man eats mama’s bread”
This poetry is authentic but pointless. A motion of words draining emotions. That’s the point.
Less is more.
More or less.
Whatever.
Such a mess.
Ink on the floor.
Black rain on your face.
Jump in from the backdoor.
‘Logic bomb’ doesn’t live here no more.
Only an authentic motionless place.
Poetry.
