No eyed noise
October 17th, 2015
All the languages identify me. Even the loving ones. Especially the loving ones. Devour me, unidentifiably inclined. Must use words without language. Must demand for words outside languages.
Otherwise, hands down, neck down – you can’t see me in my sands. Oh, you violent lovers and haters, brothers and sisters, mothers, fathers, friends who are too sober to lose your tongues in the foreign border zones.
When I close my eyes, I see war. When I open them, you nail me where you want me at. Between war and martyrdom I’m neither torn, nor released.
Switch that light, get me a rainbow that changes all the colours. Inverse inverse. Ride it, my pony.
Fucked up by wars and stalked naked by your knowing where I am nailed at, I lay onto concrete roads and pavements. The leaves of weed that crack it, enter me, unidentifiably inclined, through my holes, light and dark ones, ease up into my bones – I know the sky for a moment (….) it rains.
Won’t close my eyes for the warlords, half close them for the lovers and the haters, that – for reasons unintelligible – have disguised themselves in the drops that drop the rain.
I know the sky.
Through the weed pupils I am a master of unidentifiable inclinations, declaring now – once and for naught – the time of no one, which will be unlanguageable and date-free, thus exempt from murder and caress, that permeats all thornless things.
Eye gone.
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