All the other things

29 mei 2024

In every window I see a different version of myself
catching fire, two
strands

and twenty hands
tight around a flame. There’s too much room
to shape more empty air, more fuel

they say, we:
more eradication.
They say they shape

wind. Build rain. They say
they can change the design of night, so by the time
we go to bed

we’ll be less afraid. We
just need to pray. Us,
we are not given names, we are not

allowed to proliferate our being
or our beings’ ideas on being
beings, not even

to discuss with what seems to be
self determinated behaviour, they say:
you don’t die.

Everything
is beautiful, what remains
is a lie.

And as I sit back and eat the flames
I get colder
and colder.

My hands
pull off the skin – I feel
no pain.