A night out with mosquitoes for a sharp
comment of urgency to end the war after a decapitated
unnamed flesh of words found six inches short
I can write only poems This very ordinary life appears
to be worthless.
Without vocabulary unsemantic between us I am
enslaved alive going beyond the stings in my
heart I try to find my voice burning inside a never
gone pain do you hear me I am very lonely in the
jungle of falls. Am I descending?
Infarcts are spreading the paresis inability
to raise the finger fear of manuscript I am,
never was there in cloudless desert the starless
night, moonless sky, it is very dark. Out
of emptiness comes an explosion. Is it a new creation?
