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poet freak

I spoke with my neighbors
as a poet would
and they freaked out
and now they walk the other way
on cool evenings when all wise health freaks
and poet freaks venture abroad;
I spoke to women as a poet does
and they freaked out
and now they have renounced Valentine Days
and live in convents;
I spoke to men as a poet does
and they ran to polished cars
and masculine toys and the stock-markets for comfort;
I spoke to Prime Ministers and Presidents as a poet would
and they freaked out
and started wars and created bombs
for common sense just freaked them out
sent them mad, went berserk
and lost all interest in sex, marital and extra-marital;
I spoke to the religious and the pure and the chosen
as a poet would
and they freaked out
and they held on to their texts more
and they twisted their holy texts more
and they plotted murders and executed innocents
and they planted bombs
and strapped covered women with bombs
for they hated themselves so much
that is the only thing they could gift to the world

and now, I do not speak much,
as I know the only good poet is a dead poet
the only good poet is a silent one
but on days when there is trouble
you know I have spoken
and they have all been freaked out, scared stiff,
pissed off, berserked, by the Poet Freak

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