>> Untitled poem.
I promise that I will not care about things, persons or myself but I don't.
For example, my house looks like a set for a New England tragedy, but it isn't.
Outside, it looks like a dump.
What it's like inside, I'm too arrogant to describe.
Although we're happy for whole moments at a time, during this life is pain phenomenon.
Nevertheless, my objects, loves and self interfere with my own being.
We should, me and my wife, burn all this down and start again, possessionless to our death
and not together, which is nonsense.
Loves, marriages, families are stultifying in accumulation of debris of love and artifacts.
So let it all go, as it will, upwards in the fire after death.