Language
I’m an egent of tender.
I’m the poet Basho,
passing through the world.
Farewell, my love, you
who swung over the river with
me
to this place, exiting
buoyantly.
It is a great mystory, this
history
between me and you,
a living text of death and
dying.
We’ve been alchemized,
smoked out of the factory in order
to tag the clouds. 
"Light gives us the thread, yet the thread has no need for light."
-Lacan
No comments:
Post a Comment