For The Bearers Of The Flag

September 19th, 2011

For the bearer of the flag. For the worker of the flag. For the architect and the dancer. How the flag! For you, who does not belong to any place. For you, of the confusing and joyful pace. Then the feet, the pulse, the breath of you that are not all or yet united. The flag without a sign that mutters its songs with the breeze. The cutters, the sewers of its colour, of its surface, as light and as tight as that of a spider. For you, for whom the moment is enough, even if it is not quite there. What there? For you, who need no there to bear the flag through the rocks changing into dancing feasts. For you, who know how not to sleep, for you, who burn with fires of invisible skies. Tired, how else, not retired. For you, whose names mean nothing when bearing the flag. For you, who leave to enter. For you, whose words skew those of the place. The bridgers, the diggers, the wobblers, the plungers. The kids, how else, the beasts, how else, the women, why else. For you, who who fear no prostitution, for the pimp knows not his bitch. Then the lovers, the seducers, the cooks and the thieves – those who are not guilty of any crime for the king lives on the hills that delay. And then the loners, for you remain, the hunters with no prey. For the lovers, once more, for only in your lips lives the name. The sweet, the gentle, the poor – bearing the flag, intense in enough. For unsayable, thus sung, the unanalyzable, thus wrung. For you, the homeless, the helpless, the countryless, the less in the less. The violent violet, the brutal of the mutual. The clear, then the pure, at last then the shallow. The bearers of the flag keep on marching, for the speed of the wind is gaining in volume. For you, for the words get lost in the wrinkles of its infinite cloth.
[audio:|titles=For the Bearers of the Flag]

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