SOLITUDE 57 Comments

die Poesie der Verzweiflung or the vociferations of an empty body
. . . I seek the debris of my body strewn across the beaches of despair, left leg existing only on paper, belly and underbelly in disarray, hands stinking of the merchandise and my barks not even reaching the ankles of this sky deprived of electricity, meaning that I cheat life which grips me by the jaw, meaning that I serve as backdrop to my garbage-bag fate, frog fate, toad fate, kipelekese fate, tchanga medesu fate . . .

. . . perhaps (in hope of some kind of salvation) I should whimper and re-whimper in D-minor like my grandma's last goat: buum, buum, buum . . .
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