I let myself transfix from a poised freezing column. He penetrates the throat with the smoke and chokes me pulling my hair. I give. And giving, smoke of blame in the mirror, stick to the tonsils

and it is out of the question to speak. Move forward surrounded by splinters towards the place where I am not.

Because one goes more in, more the alienation takes body and expands in ink stains; is even my blood. it purifies my body in month and lets the aborted dumb words go out

And lets the aborted dumb words on which I sprinkle plugs of flattened towards evening roses and clouds go out. I eat them up to encrust the trachea. Then they go.

But then I write: is the love that throbs in the veins full of worms when there are also i’m not. With a wrench it puts back me in earth and it is the fire of my eternal mortality.

He tells me, live. Writing. Love, writing. Writing love up to the total decay and up to calming down the torrent of freezing and fire and until the decomposition of every emotion.



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