This one was(?)-is(?) now and then definitly "I" !
IN PRAISE OF TEARING APART
This age is not a time of happiness.
Though mortally wounded , the beast
refuses to perish. Desire and possession intensified
I live between dark and dense forms
allergic to light. Permanently dissatisfied
I get lost in things - enough is never enough.
To gloom’s half-light
I prefer the midday sun
the promises of darkness
the demonic speed of the ephemeral.
Friends are few, corners keep coming
and all this at once
frightens and attracts me…
From north, south, east and west the paths diverge
that keep me from my secret center.
These paths are ghosts of the past.
Labyrinths. Settlings of accounts always deferred,
what I was and cannot fail to be
white nights and dark days,
each world's smallest instant...
I try to forget.
I try to forget and get close to the center
but memory betrays me:
- I continue to ignore who, or what, is
in the mirror…