Poem of Nowheres and the fear of ending nowhereless

I fear the never-attainment of nowhereness
of being nowhereless,
even worse than being without a woman
even worse than becoming a father
or as my manuscripts continue to sweat
in obscurity
as my name and youth turn to vinegar
before the mud-and-newspaper-heeled parade 
of daily compulsory 99 celebrations of everyone
worse is to never have existed by ending this death
and to never exit the iron teeth of isolation
I want to fight on a road of sunlit, con-decorated warriors

 our heads full of ideas, and the true mind is bedrock  fount of passions under the throat
on our way to found the dictatorship of mysteries, of nowheres
but I continue in obscurity, neglect, loneliness
a poor freedom
hoping to begin my path to elegant nowheres
at once futuristic and archaic
born of my noble ignoble savage’s imagination
and a dream made flesh

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