Is it possible to write a poem with no feeling, no nothing, no love?
A propaganda poem?
Here, let me try:
—To write about capitalism that got drunk off Coca that turned into blood that killed itself—diseased from diabetes and Big Macs
—To write about education that shot-up-injected ideas and dreams that were deluded and drowned in their own thoughts about “to be or not to be”
—To write about important activities like chess that transform you into a leader of fools praying for propaganda.
The same spider symbols, these same words, are hammered down again and again with no purpose except to poison you.
Look at your hero, a golden calf that gives you eternal inferno.
I give up.