through the deepest inflammation
of my ruthless eyes
at the blue and friendly skies
i gazed
hysteric laughter cramped my lungs
by infiltration
of that fever in my veins
skin with sticky rotting stains
grabbed the grass, the stones, the water
nearly dead - not overthrown
not have fallen prey to slaughter
me - dilapidated daughter
of some fantasies of my own…
withered fingernails just gathered
in a bunch to catch the falling…
falling what?..
i did not see…
just a chilly spasm ran crawling
through my stomach - stone and feathered
twisty entrails…
moving… sprawling…
fast alive… lebendig… zwischen
two of them i put the tissue
so the fever's had its mission
grind my hand to little bones…
(14 декабря 2001, 15:29)
Umgekehrt
© Copyright: Alhora, 2001
Свидетельство о публикации №101121400516
Свидетельство о публикации №101121400516
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