All things interpret all other things—
each refracting the rest...
Lo—
they crusade to crucify...
Day is fading it softly bows
The ghostly whispers rise somehow...
Religions are the shadows
cast by the candle of Truth...
All speech is made
to vanish...
I am not looking for happiness.
Happiness is looking for me...
We are Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot,
the “Waiting for the Anti-Christ” deluxe...
I called—
but nothing answered...
There was another woman inside of me,
I don't know if she was worse...
Justice
is the human ability...
Forests in suits,
trees dressed in metal...
Why is it
that never and always...