Tuesday, September 28, 2010



Returning to bad days,
shadows meander surly

as my life runs amok.
Sot, I keep myself from being hunted,

deny I find pleasure in the rollercoaster-
ride, walk barefoot like a naive child.

Held by hands I cannot trust,
forcing me to put on boots covered

with mud and sperm, I become tearful.
At first sitting on a rock, yet fearless of death

I start to run on my hands over a burning pyre.
The glitter in stones ablaze.

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