Young and old
We ask: is there any violence in you?
if there is, ask abundant crabs
mingle with shrewd darkness to: attention!
and ask the horrible dawn, why it smashes among the gulls above
In pebbles of wind, silence becomes the havoc
the beast of pain is like a palm smashing into affray-
i have lost my will not to be more
my shackles are holograms, the brute calling skin a perfect liar
Miasma, flavoured space, gas pouring from our limbs
thrice mortal and immortal, twice moral and never moral
swoons in a coffin made of dancing light
fresh enough to eat the grass below a stampede of oxen
I dream of servitude, the gusts, the play, the pageants of hate
but inside my limbs, thorax, enemies and peace, there is no time
fire-flies mate in baths, the conversation is white
the steam is a skein of luxor, and the ghosts shall always replace.