When You Think You are Seeing It, It is a Reflection Which Deceives You
Once again it is too dark to speak.
Once again it is too dark to speak. The eagles are awkward leaning in toward the guide with the colander hat. The same wet carving block festers over my head imperially. There’s a terminus in my veins. Billboards are advertising smart sinks and atomic underwear. I leave the monastery to deactivate my Pinterest account. Raisins pour out their blood-sugar like engineers in the brown evening. Various solids get locked in the grid. The torsion of the North pole squashes the giant slab of etiquette. Love is an insect, frail and blinking thick as a river in a dazzling body in a field of deformation. At night the ice-gleams of the double image of hysteria fasten to our brains like fluttering pennants.
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Art by Susanne Breuss.