the sea has mastered the mass
production of waves
like millions of white foamy
the shore multiplies its own sands
that gleam like diamonds at noon
the trees grow leaves upon its twigs
the spiders spit their own silk
just like the worms
air is breathing upon its own
no one notices all these miracles
every aspect is normal
there is nothing extraordinary
things flow like water
coolness gush like wind
clouds flit, rain pours, the winds from
the sea hushes
my hands type the words for anything
trying to make poetry unnoticeable
there is nothing extraordinary now about
words on feelings long numbed
when you read this
you shall notice nothing but mass production
too, and you tell yourself
what kind of desecration of the words
is this phenomenon?
desanctify fear, disedify what is divine
make things flow like water
let the air be but just molecules
now, what is so extraordinary about you?
there is no such thing now
as discriminating taste...


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