poem.

Red

Stale people don't care
You are your enemy,
I am nothing
I fear.
You are not philosophers,
there are no philosophers, now,
no more philosophy.
The air, my sweat,
self-righteous hippies,
self-righteous feet.
Hot burning oil of Magdelen,
instant recipe for disaster,
to be rejected by scribes and pharasees,
a dope hat to-go.
Lovers, flowers, love.
Life and dead roses.
Roses dead roses;
Here comes the bride.
Right Now.