I am a voice without a generation
The year of my birth has been lost
Those born around that time
have by now all been broken
in or up
Some tell me
how they nurse
one of the many crises
commonly associated with
money love lust
They smell like long years
of boredom

Meanwhile language has evolved
– speech is mostly noise
If only I could listen closer
there are howls and poems
powls and hoems..
All languages say the same
in sound bites of powls and hoems

My bones were broken many times
My back too
Finding a comfortable position
challenges my perception of Universe
and all knowledge
every time

I play musical chairs in all social situations
and usually leave with first empty trays
Often I rebel against small things
like institutions of happiness

Without a cause
Or a generation
I stand out sorely unnoticed

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