pf_mod: modern pseudo-cubist painting of a red headed woman holding a book with a red cover (Default)
[personal profile] pf_mod
Day 8:
And I said to myself: that's true, hope needs to be
like barbed wire to keep out despair,
hope must be a mine field.


Day 9:
Here they sit and there they walk
Here they hate and there they love.


Day 10:
Sometimes I come crashing down inside myself
without anyone noticing. I'm like an ambulance
on two legs


Day 11:
And his soul is seasoned, his soul
is very professional.
Only his body remains forever
an amateur.


Day 12:
More than one prophet
has left this tangle of lanes
while everything topples above him and he becomes someone else.



Day 13:
Near my bed, the rustle of newspaper wings.
There are no other angels.


Day 14:
Perhaps from being beaten thinner and thinner,
the iron of hatred will vanish, forever.
pf_mod: modern pseudo-cubist painting of a red headed woman holding a book with a red cover (Default)
[personal profile] pf_mod
Day 1:
No use to weep inside and to scream outside.
Behind all this perhaps some great happiness is hiding.



Day 2:
The first rain reminds me
Of the rising summer dust.



Day 3:
Love is not the last room: there are others
after it, the whole length of the corridor
that has no end.



Day 4:
But then it is the light that makes you remember.


Day 5:
Restless I shall wander about;
hungry for life I'll die.


Day 6:
And no more shall we tell what we were told
To other tellers. Silence as admission.


Day 7:
Do not accept these rains that come too late.
Better to linger. Make your pain
An image of the desert.

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