Meditation kills ergo Dance

Like pollen grains on water
Like a sunbeam crossing
Little wholes in the thatch roof,
Or the greedy anxious believer
Of chance over money
Stumbling, stuck, kicked
Exponential these moves uncanny

Classes, teaching metaphysics
Or those with the bent for analysis situs
Or when we run, run, run and run
When we play, when we laugh
And we go hip or dance
While we win when we toss
And we move on the train while this friend, just stand

In those heathen times
While we made love to our moms
Those uncouth bums only danced
To the tunes of their muse
And then night, in the dark
With those spears in their hands
That blood bath off the shore
While prevails all over this silence of the strand

But then the time passes as the truth
Not the water in a river
Come meta-humans of those books
And those kings and the queens
While the well-fed thinker thinks
It’s not done, why a father of the father?
When even we don’t need a father
He proposes only beauty
And forgets the substance

Beauty kills, creates the hunger
So you heathen! You think,
You might go any longer
But you are myopic, you so called seer
Cause you are not informed
That Euclid is dead, huh!
You still live in that world-former
But any way so was Marx
Alas! Oh! Bakunin
You were not much of a talker