Gregor Cuzak

on marketing, business and philosophy


| 1 Comment

The loudness squeeks,
her beauty shreeks,
the monthly straw,
commits to law.

Of halfs of truths,
of splines to choose,
galoring truce,
untrustful news.

Conveyors stop,
the heat will drop,
the cap will grow,
the sun will know.

Yet we will march,
abiding stars,
like killing pain,
just cry in vain.

Zen loops turn south,
the poles unbound,
the hinges loose,
all hell subdues.

No rainbows arch,
no lovers barge,
no nothing swims,
no future gleams.

One Comment

  1. Heavy metal!

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