I walk on the street of this town
unadorned and unfashioned
with the piercing pain in my chest
pining me to the time
crucifying me
in space.
And the shock
when after years you learn
that the subject of your love
has been nothing but a program:
an assimilation
of stimulating assumptions,
to entices the delusion of love
When you realise that your liberation
is nothing but a carrousel
in a funfair of that delusion
a vine that spirals like corrosion
around the inane fences of mirrors,
and the concretion of your existence
is just the flesh of an apple,
an apple of bilateral bites
that chewes you while you're chewing IT
you see the worms
a worm in the flash of the very apple,
that never explores anything
but the apple,
and a worm that is
the reminiscence of the serpent
whirling in you
seducing your Eve to partake the fruit,
caving in you the way you cave in the flesh of that apple,
worms,
forever entwined
in the twirl
of
one another!
