The Secret Poem by Leon Moon

We teens, you see, have unlocked the secret
Neither in pride or in the constructs of failure
But in the beauty of nothing and the state of being
That resides in impulse.
Singes release erotic clanks as they pierce your armour
(that is enough)Still, read. Look! Bleak is the empire
And the Sun reasons to romantic confusion
—By which no one compromises to listen to one another.
I'm coming, I'm coming. I'm coming!