I am tired of the nonsense
of what does not matter.
This is how I have arrived
at not caring:
my heart, a jaded rock.
A slate-colored night
drapes my body with
the diction of damp leaves,
with the convenience of loneliness.
If I could
I would turn the World into folklore
and write a final page
because I’m weary of gods,
of satans,
of those who break the light.
Give me the intelligence
of emptiness
Let me begin each sentence
with nothing to say
Let me end each poem
as a blank page
© Dah
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