The grandeur of increasing spaces,
Gratifying nerves that are held by,
Hypocritical idol that is revered for,
Poignant clarity to any doubts;
That won’t work either,
Overwhelming appearance of your sweetness,
Dispersing in the surrounding universe,
But, a parody of your beauty- to my perceptions,
Immense pleasure I would seek for-
To the poverty you innate through---Thought
Cannot predict what would go next,
You living in such misery of rationalism
Beside lie dark bands---
Even in the death lines,
How miserable you are and your feelings;
Gorgeous, blonde; no terms like that,
For you’re starving,
Starving for the creation,
And I cannot lie to myself.
No utopia as such
Empty ideals that race for-
An extolling charm beyond your reach,
You’re full, full of nonentity
Transfigure yourself—if you can
The only thing I could suggest,
A platonic welcome for certain—I would bestow
No more expectations,
As there’s always been a gap between you and me.
