What clouds may bring,
what birds may puke from their antenas of tomorrow.
I invoke gathering eyes to peek, luminous tongues to lick,
castrate a body to create a new genocide of self-deduction.
Delivering the stigmata to those that care enough to accept them,
body as a map, desires carve their way between flesh and bone
like drops of something higher, something bigger than me and myself and I
Pale as the moon that hangs from the ceiling for Her eyes only,
I await for my hand to grab a pencil
and stab my eyes till I see what darkness looks like,
through the holes of a blindman.
Δεν υπάρχουν σχόλια:
Δημοσίευση σχολίου