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I'm wearing the last article of death I have in my possession the question of meaning No more faces no smell of flowers golden motion : a pedestrian future sculpted by the work of angels tired of flying -- they love me I remind them of futility The last thing I wanted was to dance with demons & wake up drunk with pain too much seduction will drive you home alone crowds never balance the weight in your own hands -- because holding is an act of symbols Inspiration comes from the intimate not always awake & without passion Sleep is a virtue of the depressed Minds can open doors without keys -- doors that don't exist you wish they did The burden of change no burden the weight of ages a passage of time the birth of vision to its death Open eyes have genius and leak -- teardrop words The dogs of reason are hexen bitches friend to the skeleton & industry I WANT FLESH & SPIRIT & HEAT no logical sun could generate Sense a place in the world -- the act of chance is passive we are verbs In our blood In our veins In our youth In our pain In our heads In our sleep Movement A book of skin & bone : my back scarred in signs of history & sweat roses breathing breathing deep the wind never forgets your name -- but never speaks it doesn't care
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