She took off her panty and came to me
I was too drunk to take her in…
But I managed.
Next morning she went to her place and I went for a mountain.
I found death inside her…
I never told her that.
It was beautiful dying inside the dark womb.
There was a man playing flute and wondering about the weird world…
I went up to him and stood there until the velvet sunset.
The night came and she was there again…
without clothes, without the fear of realization.
The dark tunes prevailed,
I came,
I went for the disappearance.
Poets should die early in a state of madness…
Either write some mother fucking words or live a life of rational correspondence.
There’s hell in between them…
But I couldn’t die…I couldn’t vanish in translation…
I was solidified…I was mortified…I was benevolent in love.
Don’t get me wrong…a man has nothing to prove to a woman other than his mystified spirituality…
I am done with that.
The words will never come out of a homeless asshole and a intangible loser.

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Photograph: Josef Sudek.