... or: A Myriad Me's
Beautician and
my darling, we have taken years to us from the lake
the Devastation that we, every hurt itself, as we have not met
created to create us, is we followed once Dionysian appetites
, and drank the light by the resignation
in drunken sleep resisted or the crack of dawn with a Fick
replied, whereby we touched down, every man for himself, his neighbor, a Cowl
, he drank to, and made him dance like a monkey,
flirt while on his donkey ears twitching a lice seeker
with a sardonic meant smile bright eyes
to flirt with him, however, we impressed upon his sweetheart a kiss
then another, until they, and dismayed raunzig getting a Andren
took, and we, at any in itself, with a new bottle, serene these games,
in their own, or of some other hot with three in bed, asleep
once with one, another time with deuces in his hand, and with the other
on the bottle, this is what we, each for himself, the madness of the Homunculus by
self-crucifixion to expire investigated purely on this fact,
to rise again to stone by stone, carefully build the bulwark
we are now, as we are here to be what we are before we were
what we were, a vague idea of self-reflection,
now meat and poetry, and any question about our ego,
the myriad Mine merged into one unit, with a referral
answer to our art.
All rights for images, audio, and text by Jens Moiré. there use and reproduction only with permission of the author
