Relieves II

(With the last cigarette and a short glass of whiskey)
The heroism of continuing. Or perhaps just the desire of believing, of the belief that one survives –over the surface. As if the return was possible or meant anything. Mirage of a circle—a land afar—or a knowledge—facts, times, wrinkles—that would make relief, give relief. Everything yet as if one only continued drawing one’s death mask. The meaning of the surface, and of the spirit. Remembrance of “happy days” while your own have not finished tolling. Impossibility, ergo beauty.

On m’appellera Saint Jacques. I will be summoned at the instant when I lose my ears. While we keep inscribing characters, telling the old tales of “love, madness and death;” protection over the skin of everything that comes to pass. Until “all said and done,” a little to none awareness, and.

Mirage of the circle while the graces, the “petites filles” dance around the well. Pick your favorite flower, become a plant, no more than an animal. Goya’s dog is watching over/below all of us. Enough reason to stop the endings, to arrest the longing and become large.
River.

In the middle of the feast, and yet. Just before we start singing. While on the tower, or the plain, eulogy of the lack of (and within) deepness. While on the well, dance around it, tell me a story about the bodies that turn and turn around my absence.

As you form my eyes, my mouth, out of the same fears.

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