I sometimes pile barren flowers on my field of feeling.
there was first blind hope to radiant expectation
like bees rashly sniffing a honeyed bush node.
in truth, however, gradually came the rigid image of the acidic desiccation in a silent watercourse.
words have long since ceased to count as they pile up on shards of broken glass, cutting me into carnal parts, not once, but again and again, again and again and so on of incessant convulsive resistance.
here I stand aging and see around me the missed opulence, drifting far away in dying fatigue.
i look back, i can't, it was life that robbed me.
Even the only reaching hand waved away my longing.
the indispensable has been crucified. i no longer call. I walk away into nothingness
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Ik ben , en gebruik soms ook wel de schuilnaam Julius V.E. Dreyfsandt zu Schlamm.
