The Ant And I

The Ant and I stare at the invisible mountain, 
Gazing out at the endless horizon, we ponder, 
Who crafted the dreams that made us who we are, 
Who destroyed the beauty of our presence?

‘Isn’t it wondrous...’ the Ant marvels,
‘...how we watch the wind, rocks, and river cascades, 
reflecting the light of the stars down the hills,
with the speed of a thousand photons lewdly fucking
but we will never see them as they truly are?’
The Ant sighs with a ruby smile in a distant gaze,
Melancholic drops of blood sliding down her chin.

The Ant and I look upon the absent mountain,
Our cries silenced by choked bleeding throats,
We only hope to hear a voice echoing through the endless hills 
but all we can do is wait in silence.

The Ant and I are but some lonely specks of dust, 
Forgotten in the cold and quiet of the night,
Left behind by the histories, by the bloody diaries,
by the faded photos, by the geopolitics of imperialistic 
lies, and by the films of unfinished truths.
Yet, we long to love, we long to weep and be together... 
—At least that’s what She would have said,
Giving tender kisses to my subconsciousness,
Amidst her hush of freezing stillness.

The Ant and I rebel in love and rage,
Spurning the dandy colors of museum art,
Disdaining the caged taxonomy of the senses,
We are against the establishment,
We don’t appreciate the bulges on your belly,
We don’t like the monarchy, we are anti-social,
We are anti-progressive, anti-capitalistic, anti-utilitarian, 
Anti-art, anti-rutte, anti-democratic pricks and thorns

Fuck your beauty, fuck your museums and your money,
fuck the books that you read and the countless crowns,
fuck Netflix and all the time-wasting pleasures of the world,
fuck being a tourist and fuck having a home, fuck being homeless, 
fuck your neoliberal reforms, and fuck building resilience,
fuck abusive men, and fuck their deranged cocks,
fuck supporting your white rich companies, and fuck
all the photographers who tried to make them appear blacker, 
fuck poetry, and fuck this dying world, we are not meant to be here 
fuck death and fuck love

The Ant and I swear at the mountainside,
Guessing where the contours of our desires lie, 
Longing to reach the serenity of Her angelic mind, 
Yet, the Ant and I survived but She did not.

We gazed upon the snowy hills with awe,
Embracing the winds and scent of frosted flesh,
In fear, like a child confronting the vastness of space,
And the inevitable doom of our small universe.

The Ant and I clung to one another, 
With trembling legs, we cried in smile,
Our screams echoing through the cosmic peaks, 
Yet, the mountain’s deaf, it remained the same, 
Numbed in an impassioned stillness,
By the coldness of its silence.