Thursday, 6 February 2014

Liebestod

From on high,
the lift drops to
a
basement,

unpremeditated,

unpreventable,

unhindered.

Gritted in extremity,
in the bite of creation,
life flows from us like stricken emperors,
open-palmed and
helpless on the pavement of being.

Hurry these words out,
splash them in fresh paint,
wet on the walls of the cave,
telling all.

Imagoes of truth,
and the origin of butterflies.




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