"I always thought that we should not be afraid of evil in the world, but of good is missing."
(Don Benzi)
Dedicated to a Christian-Christian
I tell him my citadel
your demons
songs that they love
of each garden
trampling the flowers
Tell him that my name has citadel
oxymoron and that a fire wall protecting the
the horrific nightmares
filth filthy
Tell him that he wanted to kill me that this is a cool fire
I look at the time that the fruit flies
d 'illusions
you call a play of dreams
prestige
so dirty and cruel
is so right, time clock
God Loving is the privilege of poets
not obsessed dividing
producer of evil and pain
Tell him that the poets
are fragile when they leave home and bring the joy
though a poet
not alter this dense world
and worried
Tell him that poets are means and means crazy angels
and have music that awakens
the man who is ready
but he only
and neither distance neither time
can destroy them.
Explain that this privilege is self-giving love
waste of flesh-hungry hands and empty
who can not believe
neither risk nor
say I love you, nor thanks. Tell
and stand in line and pray
and wait, and meanwhile heated
the warmth of my tears.
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