thedeadlykiss

In another life… I was not real And all the things that I call my own, Separated, rearranged… Against a certain constant flow I wonder… If by name, I hold this identity, This life, this form, this body But it passes away, Who are you? Whose hands are these, That touch and grasp Like formless matter As if saying my body From certain ubiquitous forms To lose oneself, Is this the wall, where one law ends And the freedom of inversion Take place? In a name, in a word, in a thing Around the clawing of one’s hands Roots of a mandrake flower Waking, turning Erotic consciousness The wells dim like voids a