| Sunday, August 22, 2004 |
| The Black Growth |
I found animals
Picking up stones
On the sides of the road.
When you die,
Consciousness,
Remember this humble body, and this bold soul,
Remember they’ve been always loving you,
Remember strikes oh oh
You are part of the triangle of life.
Consciousness, body, soul.
What is it about America that brings to my heart such amounts of melancholy?
Bridles,
Deaf bridges
On line
Regurgitate trucks of sand. Local pain.
What is this tragedy? Not understandable
To steal is a bit bitter.
Consciousness, remember the flavor of emotions, body cry big boats non-soul
Bi-loneliness. Cerebral sadness—dead punk—Spanish flowers.
Hesitate
Existing or not
yes No
no Yes
Go on
Pretending what I am not.
Hypocrisy indolence karma
I could go on.
I could pretend.
But last day
I could not stand the eyesight
of the black growth of hatred
and indifference.
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posted by MORGAR @ 6:44 AM  |
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