neon nazism by Aad de Gids

I am not a silent poet

frail is the invisible vanishing of the cold, sudden
nevertheless still in biting wafts of nordic chill
in the bones felt, along now the upcoming lament:
teary eyes a, heave of the poetic poitrine of the
world so sad, so sad so intrinsically linked with
“world” that its hurt is our hurt that megalomaniac
ruins our ephemerality as our togetherness each
time to achieve anew yet the Thing disrupts and
fouls his own people. “of the world” yes to make
up this syndromology of sociopathic sociologies
fabricated by an entire insane contingent of these
people who trusted this nazi enough to vote for it

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