A moment needn’t be nice but real,
beautiful.
Let no poem tell you what you want to hear.
If you don’t bite your nails off or blow your brains out
in front of the world’s daily spectacle
go buy some bottled life,
and grab a French author,
wonder about the intricacies of existence,
while the world lives and dies beside you,
and never commit yourself to an ideal
but stay fresh and eloquent.
But if you bite your nails, and scratch your head
hysterically,
while you watch around,
and your yoga lessons didn’t make any effect,
and you die and kill for one ideal
that’s the only thing you live for,
then you know already that a moment
needn’t be nice but real, beautiful.
