A moment of madness
if allowed to grow freely
can generate our understanding.
But twisting the hands of the plague
it deteriorates into a mass of unwillingness,
‘non-understanding’ – ‘non-sense’
A rebellious mood more eager to destroy
than to obey
Bending the ear of the menace
it screams
and attacks. The central nerve explodes
like some
volatile volcano
Its riches are sweet, I know
And we would like to keep them all to ourselves
But don’t you feel sick my honey?
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