From Pomelos and Primroses

By the pond we’d pry on your privacy
Schadenfreude is just a fancy word but we can see
Your misery. Sad animals.
For the romantic and quixotic
We’re the saviour; the refuge from the mess
An irrelevant substitute of the noise
The tender, the softer, the calmer the better
So go to the living hell
Your gun can only kill yourself
We’ve nothing to do with it
So much so, to the overly fond heart-owners’ delight.
In winter when we rise, in others when we grow
You have to keep killing yourself—each other
While the bard in you seeks for the sweetness in us
As if nothing’s wrong with you,
Nothing’s wrong in us
And an old man says “fuck art, let’s dance.”