[un]beatific

 

the beat doesnt flow in my viens,
i drink cold tea and there is no
rhythmic snaps in my ears,.
i sing the softest blues, but my
lips have never kissed greatness.
there is but silence on my skin,
not a single fallen shard of simple poetics.
i am not, can not, be as the sky,
the tides, the moon.
its just not there, folded between my
flesh and bone, nor twisted in my hair.
i dream of a peacefull bohemia.