A second-handed poem with nothing to reveal,
Still 21 lines left and you are down to nil.
Study the scansion,
For lack of tension.
I� m always purging air and then blow up the thrill.

Is nonsense understood ?
At least I wish I could�

You�re watching those prints that shouldn�t shine.
You�re reading essays without a line.
Cells of bright, trite paper, just burn to feel free.
None to say nor tell nor sell,
(Give) medicine to those who got the remedy.

Pick up a few good words and some threadbare ideal;
Add a conspicuous phrase to get run-of-the-mill.
Then in the distance,
Watch in abhorrence.
The smile I�m seeing now tells me it called for zeal.

Still paradoxical
Intoxicating, again I write my silent call.

You�re watching those prints that shouldn�t shine.
You�re reading essays without a line.
Cells of bright, trite paper, just burn to feel free.
None to say nor tell nor sell,
(Give) medicine to those who got the remedy.

-Nil �

You�re watching those prints that shouldn�t shine.
You�re reading essays without a line.
Cells of bright, trite paper, just burn to feel free.
None to say, none to tell, none to sell, no remedy.

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