There are so many things that really should be said. But they hold no meaning.
Not for me, anyways.
There are things that need to be said. Now. They hold my whole being and squeeze.
And threaten to make me burst.
You can't hear me, anyways.
Empty pilgrim, solamente una macchina. Seulment une machine.
Knock, shake, hold.
Are you listening?
[reflections on C, from 2002, edit. 2009]
No comments:
Post a Comment