LIKE SOMEONE CAUGHT IN THE RED

 
He consciously ripens within himself, like a negro seed Between Life and Death, the survival of everyday life. Those constantly preparing for a long journey should not yet be dragging on the already precious Time.

From wall to wall you can hear the sickly, bad penny.man calvary of the heart turning in on itself. I listen soundlessly to the silence inside, while my face is stained red with the grim shame that so many have promised and vowed, but only a few have kept their word, even one!

I should learn again to believe in hypocritical miracles. It seemed to lie trembling through my tears: the alchemy of my prodigal memories.

I'll fall, I feel, and then fall again, like the aging, old, doddering Sisyphus. On drums of silk they would be beating in my ears, if I let them, by teasing fox-demons. My dreams are always taking me to depths unruly, for they have never been able to rise above the captivity of my unworthy, pitiful cesspools.

The broken world is vanishing in the terrified outcroppings of Time and consciousness. Thundering herds of huddled mobs of macho hags deliberately hunt down the best of our unconscious beauty-queen-females. And even if there's a kindly self-delusion, sooner or later the rendezvous passed round is lost.

It would be nice to get back into the skin of moonlight-sucking babies. Back when everyone and everything was spotless and spotlessly clean, and if an eccentric child made a mistake, he was not harshly reprimanded or given the pathetic stigma of being a dumb-ass.