Where do they all come from,
all these tiring wasted wrecks of wretches
who exhaust you by their extremism,
the Limbo people without roots and aims
who only live for their eccentricism,
as if life's only meaning was excessiveness
at any cost by any means whatever the results,
and they ignore completely that they leave you
wasted in the ditch as they have passed you by
and driven you completely over by their wastefulness
of energy, of nonsense, of big deals for nothing,
of their hopelessly excessive vanity inflation.
But the other people, those who are more normal,
can't you stick with them, who for a change are sensible?
They are not easily accessible, since they are usually at work
and are not seen at home except late in the evening,
when as burnt-out cases they arrive, and early in the morning,
when they have to go to work without much rest
and having usually endured a night of nightmares or insomnia.
Those, the normal people, are not much to celebrate
since they are generally boring; and thus you don't have much else
than all those extremists who loiter without work
and just keep on exhausting you with their relentless pathos,
being better than the others in at least that they are never boring.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 689 times
Written on 2006-09-02 at 16:44
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