Oh the poetry
you judge the words
like seeing a gypsy in a Victorian garden
you cannot see their meaning
through your filter of ordinarity
and your impediment of fear
you roll up like a little ball
to fit the ant´s straight jacket
and infinity is lost forever
as you vertically group your Red soldiers
against your Latin Board, your Inquisitive myth, McCarthy stiff
and paint over society
without missing a single scar
or so you think
and so you sink
in your oppressionist perception
to punish the Joke of complex reality
pleased to meet you
I am a channel
an underground river
flowing below your feet
to infinity