Fruno hasn't been around here for a very long time, but he was quite prolific on here! Here are 3 of his poems to read and discuss! Fruno, if you're out there... I have designated you Poet of the Month!

#x
I sit and wander in this confined space,
Suffering from depression and death anxiety.
All that greets me in the morning is a harsh alarm
Red lights
Grey weather
and Cold.
If it's not Friday or a weekend, the scent of
Stale grounds and
The moan of the snobbish rich
Greet me, mixed with the cheers of coworkers who
Are friends.
Why am I lonely??
Then it clears up on those great days.
Grey days.
Grey dais.
Come my way,
Leave my way,
Let me stay.
- - - -



Theoretical Malignancy
Charcoal gray lines crossfade gently over the urban skyscape.
The city is enveloped in a mire of fog and smoke.
Vibrant green and blue streak the sky, noxious fumes.
The freeway collapses and takes the task of killing dozens.
The theoretical malignancy of the cancerous growth of society -
It threatens all in its ever expansive wake.
Fighting to waveboard over the mess of ruins,
The lost souls gather around the last edifice of the previous ways of being.
The theoretical malignancy of change comes closer.
"The love of repetition is the only true love"
The mocking tone, the sickness of it all, the Sartrean know-how long gone...
It all went white.



Textit
Your supplementary innocence masks your poorly chosen tastes.
And the text you routinely shit out lacks substance.
Each new line of verse is a pile of fetid waste.
The ghosts of your supposed past cements...

Hope your line wears down
Hope your line wears down
Hope your mind tears down
Hope your brain breaks down

Every bill you post references your incapacity.
Yet still people are snowblind, piebald.
Maybe more than us three will see
Your ignorance and lack of style that callously scalds.

Hope your feet break down
Hope your line wears down
Hope your flag burns down
Hope your tears drip down

Whatever ideas you have, throw them away.
Your ideas of metaphor and theme appall me.
With all the bureaucracy of an executed one's stay,
There's nothing for my eyes to interpret or see.

Hope your drives corrupt and decimate down.
Hope your bitrate drops down.
Hope your flag burns down.
Hope your line wears down.
God, I hope you calm down,
God I hope you're struck down.
God, I hope you're numbed down.
God I hope you vanish now.