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| Coal Barges in Arles, Vincent Van Gogh. |
Pour me out
In a cup of doubt,
Because tomorrow’s here
And it feels just like today,
All the hypnotic themes,
Woven into fabrics,
That veil the carcass
Of my soul... it feels no more.
What it does
Is ruled out by all
... fair means,
The space of separation
Is the only thing
That grossly connects life
And the fraternity of time in between,
To fake to be unmoved,
Is an illusion to die for.
What the weak would have contrived,
For there is no such thing as fate,
As Fate would have loved to say,
But temporary deaths are shaken by
The fables that terracotta Gods tell,
So pour my thoughts
In a heap of waste
For tomorrow came so often
That I don’t even feel being here today...
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