Lonesome
A-lone sometimes I find myself
Wandering, meandering, slithering
through,
transparent.
Trans-parent(ing) is what I call
crossing to the other side of your
Child-Ego
into being the
Christopher Columbus was a good man
But as Bartholomew De Las Casas wrote
“The admiral (…) was so anxious to please the King that he committed irreparable
crimes against the Indians.”
“murder,
The Romans’ currency infused gold
With the hunger for the ever-consumption,
Hedonistically feeding the god
Of self-indulgence.
In the global supermarket of edible gold
From Risotto d’oro con
Imagine the thrill of the hunt, the speed of anthropoid limbs rushing for their life, the
breath accelerating, the heart on the verge of imploding. Running for one’s life brings one‘s
senses to the
When Gold first touched female flesh, it quivered
Flashes of power, of mastery zigzaging her nerves
Seduction sprung metallic from voluptious bracelets
Rings, necklaces, earrings. Soft and
In the eternal nothingness of the black hole
the infinitesimally small, infinitely hot, infinitely dense, something - a singularity
coagulates under pressure
finite matter squished into infinite
Tired City reflected in empty eyes
You force yourself on dishevelled bodies
Inhabit their sexes and crush them like insects
Their pangs never heard, their limbs never found
I loiter through
Weave my skin out of remorses
In your world there is no echo, no blood
Weave it with your eyes, hungrily...with noises,
With mud...
My first scream will set you free
Design me according to
Write your story with blood,
Young parfumed blood on the whitewashed wall
Fish my tongue out of the incineration chamber
And suck it, suck it to life....
Your blood, my tongue, liquids
Glass over-dimensioned aquaria
Inside trembling old naked people
Emptied.
They’re smoking
Black smoke lingering in whirls
Absorbed.
They paint with cold fingers
On the dirty old
I’m finally a bride
Marching with my fellow passers-by
Towards nowhere
Treading upon odor-breathing grass
My comrades, why does your skin look so tired
So blue?
Why do you travel in boxes,
Each room deposits an old man
In his dirty small room everything seems tarnished
Haunting visions whirling in front of his eyes,
The silence suddenly horrifying him.
The old man is speaking