Shrivel Up And Die

Been jumping around, taking shots at my text passing
by, cutting off small chunks to dunk in the cauldron of
my mind, reading that hands are tied in the real world
but in the imagination  nothing is tied and everything
begins in our thoughts - returning to my technical text

Taking a few more shots - translating snatches of lines;
my soul can’t accept life can be so dead as to consist of
this nondescript text - where is the wonder of quantum
sums - the magic of geometry as basis of the equations
used to analyse reality; where is everything that makes

My heart sing - why marooned on this island of boring
texts, why don’t I study the rhythms of life?  - The only
connection is in the work of a poet brother who makes
words sing - for the rest I’m compelled to kill the thing
that lives in my fantasy - the dream leading me to see

An alternative reality; there is no space for imagination
in translation, selling my soul for the bread I eat, taking
pills for the pain as parts of my mind shrivel up and die