Be aware of the murderer who roams free with a iron rod in his hand.
Be aware, this crime infested night knows how much blood can you spill.
A hippie moon over the Cypress trees…
He won’t do anything, he will just throw some poems at you.
That would be enough…poison will enter from you cracked vein.
You won’t get a last call to your lovers…you won’t be able to see that corrupted advertisement in your television screen,
just a road ahead full of isolation and a pack of whimsical wolves by your side.
I have been murdered by that tall beast before…
and I am transmitting from a place of great potentiality.
Rum is free, farmers having poetic intercourses with their partners,
politicians playing violins in rained conferences…
Creative liberties, arts are without those stabbing plagiarisms.
I say don’t be aware.
Let him come to you in your most stoned state…let him find your poison and let him kill you with that.
I know you have that imagination to be killed.
Now pour a drink and make yourself a dinner and listen to the Rocket Man…and wait.
He will be coming to get you.

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Painting: The Camden town group.