"You dream of a better day, alone with the moon" (Blixa&Teho)

I want to turn my body into protest, they are killed twice:
by hunger and  by bullets in the middle of  hunger
hatred is an invasive species, mistletoe  in reversed veins
I can see how thoughts fracture in the middle of sentence,  unrecognizable streets pose symmetrical questions
how can this be or is this all that can be
how much patience the pain has
death is like Schrodinger's cat,
it can be simultaneously here and there
a surreal space exists where time can't be saved
an invisible hand recycles genesis, invokes innocent beasts
time doesn't pass through all the layers of pain
some are turned into a certain sky, others into frozen movement, another into the fertile soil for growing wings  with which one cannot fly because the wind has not yet been invented

we keep changing the names
of things
as if better semantics
will help us change our nature
but whether you call it
emotion overflowing reason
the furies awakening
having one's buttons pushed
or getting triggered
the human condition
remains
unadulterated
pure
its essence stubbornly
bare