You

You, oh you, are not another shade
Among selves who overcrowd this place.
Not another disposable smile,
Cellophane wrapped, emitting fumes
Of popular artificiality,
With monophonic ways that terrorize
This God-breathed world that's meant
To be a safehaven for uniqueness.
Oh no, for you are mine, and my taste
Is more than refined, so take note.
Any spotlight that doesn't reveal you
Has its punishment sealed in with the act.
For you are a labyrinth of resplendent songs,
Each one a feast for my appreciative soul,
The echoes alone reason enough to smile.

On Life (Versified)

I want to taste the fullness of life,
Bottom to top, all angles covered,
To scrape the roots
Of poverty, and thank God
For a single shabby bed
While I drink an elegant wine
And Tchaikovsky
Paints the auricular landscape
With solemn stubborn joy.
I’d like the fears of a murderer
Juxtaposed with the sunshine
Laziness of bourgeoisie yawns.
I want the victory mixed
With defeat, and defeat
Victorious over victory.
The stars I’d prefer to dance
With the crystal tops
Of mountains, as I sing
Praises to the Creator
Who knows the same as me.
For the singular is a disease,
A foreign language of existence,
And if I say yes, then I say yes
To all: with open arms,
No worries or complaints,
No doubt or self-swallowing misery,
For to breathe is our sole victory,
And despair our only wretched enemy.