What can you escape when the ground becomes your feet
Taking you to places you had never thought you'd be
If I tell you something would you say you understood
Even if the sun was down and we became the woods
Here we are in front of it, the world between our heads
Making us susceptible to holes inside our beds
I have fallen many times because of holding on
To paralleled uncertainties you've hidden in your palms
Cover up the tracks and it's as if I wasn't there
I'll continue walking til I'm physically impaired

What is it to be free in an unfree world?
Madness, as the only escape, is what I have chosen.
Madness in the sense of unrest,
Disavowal of the properties proscribing my actions
I smoke and drink to put off life
to ensnare nothingness with breath
and feel contingency take its hold on me
I want wine, furies and song to be my epitaph
and grasp at meaninglessness with two sweaty palms

I am not comfortable and never shall be
with this notion of decidedness and squalor of the mind
yet it is I

I know little of the great works and can hardly hold a pencil

This is where I meet myself, a worker, unfit for labor
exposed to existentialism and sick

I shudder, alone forever

Good things given to and wasted on me

I am death encapsulated

http://prezi.com/lf50ud2c7bc1/das-universum-ist-aber-eine-frau/

Today I wrote my
first poem in Spanish--this
is not it, of course.

Love only knocks once.
Maybe she can be scouted-
out thereafter, sought and
captured tearfully, like a dog
reunited with the master
whom he'd thought was dead--but
she only knocks once, and then,
I think, gives up.  The universe
gives up.  I cannot will love back to me.