Anarchy
Shut up, my inner critic
It never quits, it’s never finished
Every word is so hollow
I wander, and me it follows
Silence! Shut up that inner sound
Whiny, loathsome, dreadful thing
Crack my knuckles and I pound
My desk, please let me stop and think
Shut up that inner father
Or take your pick, and name whoever
The devil is to blame
Waiting, conniving all the same
Breathe in your meditations
Anything to ease frustration
“Perfection” is my motto
Perfection’s dead
Read Twilight of the Idols
White noise. All is quiet
Here, in the present moment
I’ve managed something brilliant
The art of anarchy
Destruction of the finger
That waves disapproval
Dismissal to the law!
Oh my art is anarchy
No bandit has more power
Except that of ink
And no man is freer
Except in anarchy
