would this be a magnum opus or just another victim of a poet’s crime spree?

I was plagued by concepts, of externalities
of people being enraptured over philosophy
I cared only to finish an array of haiku
and being triumphant over cheap victories–
walls unadorned of trophies,
not concerned whether a novel is a carnage
but I watched how you dance
lured me with your amorous rhetoric
now I would crouch and beg to lay my head on your lap
and beg, kiss me, and beg, line the blade to my throat
tell me something cathartic, like politics, kill me
drag me to the mud, show me the evil orbit of capitalism–
the veneer of cruelty you despise
with each thrust, I’m overjoyed, seeing eclipse in mercury

art: Valdemar Irminger - (Danish, 1850-1938), 'On Honeymoon'