Heidegger Was a Nazi Sympathizer

I don’t know anymore
About this poetry my mind
Has been made up for so long
What’s the use of exploring it
What are the car keys for mustn’t
I just go when sitting the world’s all
Too real the grass is something pullable
Can dirt scream it should the dirt should
Come flying upwards in anger this is what
I think when it’s poetry I don’t know anymore
I’d like to be like James whose fun is all in movies
Where the earth is in danger and he drinks so he never
Knows that it is saved eventually by grassy-headed aliens
And one beautiful woman, the fifth element, no, he never understands
So he passes out each night believing that even our fantasies are hopeless
I should ask him sometime because he might know if the world
Has ever felt as strange as it does to me when I think
Anything at all.