nothing happened, except that I was saved

aching fever, flat on my blanket
the night hurls distant railway tracks
and sweaty squalls of cabbage corpses
from south-east
into the black black chamber.

in my fever dream, the corpse
sucks me south-south-east into the landfill
into her dark entrails, into her blackest fluids
fever ache. the potent stench of rot
in the bedroom

but deeper into the night
your compact body against my back
the room smells of linen,
Orion enframed in the window
you smile in the glowing dark

and touch me where I need it the most

I no

 

sick of soul self talk mirrors
all is said

mirror fuck shatter.
these hands shall change
fight up down exclude
include

world be

soon, oh soon the light

in a mere 30 years
all those that knew us
will be dead as well

so as we grow older
no news is tellworthy any longer
for we see the true world now
our fates but nothing

so nothing is new
and what matters
is now
and what we leave behind
perhaps, if we can