through my pores I outpour
a cement of my own,
outside a wall wells up
made of sound silence,
whilst inside the universe
fades into forgetfulness
to watch death from an outer stance
or time in an out-of-time glance
equates with sensing the aching body
apart from feeling the pain
which makes it the body I am
drop by drop the thread wears off
towards the exit from the inner water-spring
whose drinking brings
an increasing deadening
of our most treasured recalls,
and oblivion is someone talking
behind a double-glazed window
I don’t lose myself where I can’t be found,
I simply stay where I run out,
I’m unable not to want and won’t,
nails and hair may pull on and on,
as to the remains, they also still thrive
despite of me, what is left to be said:
all matter aspires simply to rest
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