poet

Be Imperfect and DieBe imperfect, and die!Envy not the ancient constellations,With their stick-figure constancyfixed in the heavens.No! Forgive this conception and transcend it.Be a real constellation:Burning, ever-moving and gloriousfor your never-waiting, yourindifference to the supplicationof that old, inquiring organwhich churns inside youbut would petrify the churning.Be imperfect, and die!Envy not the ancient spring,which pushes life…