we are left here
enchanted but unable
so disabled to
recognize
the wormholes
this paradox
is it the most misterious
they don't say
but
the moment
I become
words
I die in all letters
at once
I dissapear from
the impossibility
of prethought
curved into a field of longing
most inner of language
so the moment
my words enrage you
bemuse you
or make you wanna run
I am alive again
in your coffe
or in a jacaranda
far away

life is a beautiful mess
everybody is afraid
to say
wholeness an antiword,
they don't mind,
the mastery
of a waking U
so poetry
is reality
in a language
we don't understand

what becomes of me
we will see