The art house is painted in celebrated
madness,
thread dresses no one owns,
scraps of books made into light.
The asylum collects people celibate
from themselves. The advice that occurs
most to me is stop working, leave the house.
The steamboat will carry on its drift
with everyone aboard.
I can eat lime-rind all I want,
it won’t bleach my smile,
it’s something to believe.
Cartoon physics scare some people.
If you can shift radio to mute,
you’re doing more than sleeping.
I met the thirsty scholar as he drank
a city of its propaganda.
He is going to write a cave of thesis
that learns about the railway inside
of us, how we can be proud of always going.
-
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Syllable Syndrome 
I don’t know why Antosh, but this poem seems a bit disconnected to me. Its beautiful. But maybe i’m not able to understand it.
I love all the things you are saying in it, though. Specially “The asylum collects people celibate
from themselves.” this is so beautiful.
I really appreciate you saying so, this is very much a collection of lines in a draft, I think I’m still working out what it is.
Oh gosh. I’m so sorry if it upset you. But you’re such an awesome poet. I love your work a lot. And i just think you can do better than this š
Not at all, quite the opposite. I needed that feedback to know what to do with it š
phew. Good luck!