. . .
that which has a secret inside itself . . .

which is :
that exhilaration that is serene and untouchable . . .

that self contained God-like feeling
that is completely independent of all of the chances and changes of life

. . . . Joy . . .

éclairs — bolts
sleek barrels
brimming with custard resolve
washers —
flat wafers of caramel snap
kissed round by a cutter’s rim
slid between chew and cream
to keep the whole from
unravelling





.

50 ways to wreck, get in line
Need to grow, have to push
Flicking through vinyl and feeding the rush
Kovacs

let's decenter love
crush it and mix it with pepper
let's put it in boxes and send them
to an uknown destination
let's caress our defeated hands
til they willingly remember
skin's magnetic charge, the magma of darkness

let's asphixiate the air till no longer tolerates words
excavate the emptiness, two fossils washed by rain our hearts
unbearable the silence hidden in the middle of teeth

let's not do impossible things like two acrobats of the invisible
certainties implode like stars' collapse into the ***** of space
your confetti smile, this brutal beauty of longing
let's stop counting days, stay resonant instead
we are a fleeting sorcery in a dyzzing endless pace