And this time it is silent.
I'm all here in this envelope of muscle and hair.
I'm in bad moods and groans, the smiles and sudden movements.
I'm in tears cleansing and reclining his head, laughing.
Sto. You just look at me.
I'm in my nails, in the movement of the eyelids.
mouth and I am a soldier step.
are scattered in books and words hung.
the words, confuse, deceive the story. The self-portrait and forgery.
This is a time of silence.
Time to play with the gravel and standing water.
are the incompleteness and lack.
have the freedom of not being there and not tell and do not do it.
that I am and maybe I will not be. They do not know.
And you look at me without giving words and meaning, just look at me.
Tell me yes or no, but do not think defined, categorized, in accordance with corresponding.
Walk skin, scars and bruises without asking. Play.
I felt my body stiffen at the touch sensitive areas or extend orgasm.
hear a bittersweet taste of me that is all in being nothing.
Let me well.
( Auguste Rodin )
[...]
I feel now, with an accuracy
that I put into words here for you.
tell you this simple vision.
No footage contains us
no border bank
no name is sufficient
in any photo we come
no camera takes full
this is that our loose covers
all mixed infinity.
Joy
condenses into particles associated with it, you trackball
and firmament, he jumps
life dancing
not perish, without exhausting,
unchanged, untouched, seductive.
conducts himself and the dying of the body is not
that come out so far.
Without kilos, without feet, without
particles. Alleluia.
August 8, 2010
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