The consumer is consumed
as consumption consummates...
You macerate me and
I create art...
This scrap of dirt
this portion of earth...
I and my odes
are never alone...
Life means the amnesia of death,
the amnesia of existence of the death...
Smile in the mirror with all your cries,
all your tender spots, raw...
Is a real performer to perform in real life?
Are all of these acts...
I don’t care if you believe in God or not.
But those who anonymously “know” God...
This makes no sense.
What is this sound...
Like a sponge that soaks
our share of moist...
Centripetal and centrifugal,
two core of an oval mirror...
Nothing exists as absolute,
in hardcore reality...