Don’t give me stuff about future.
You‘re dead already, what’s the point?
Throw all away, your dreams, your plans
Your love to anything above, the understanding
Of the efforts, brought in a real world withstanding
Life as if it goes along the tripled and so scary
Stuff in stiff or flexible desire to extinguish
This forgetting fire of spontaneous combustion
That in the process of umbilical connection between
The source of life and someone so precious
In the future of our race as capable of thinking
That is beyond the patterns recognition of
Simple images on tapestry of walnut
Or other nuts in matter of what’s coming
In recreation of entire fate of local
Generations that then eventually
Will become as global as anything
We never thought about.