NOTHING REMAINS. As if under a millstone.
Crushed. Ravaged. Expelled.
My seed is rowing through the air. I present
a splendid opportunity to get to know hollowness,
to see desire and zeal anchored in a dot.
I feel furious and impotent: why should
this happen? Lovers shriveled and parched
like the landscape. Given up to emptiness.
Their hollow bodies fly over the meadows
in bloom. There they are regularly reaped
by a hunter prone to voyeurism. While his
seed is sprinkled around, the shadows
of lovers veil his body. He’s gone. Ice
glides along earth and enters breathing.
Later, water enters bodies.
A little longer life can be endured. I know.
I feel to blame for everything. I feel a deep
grief, a disappointment for not being able
to do something. Take, for instance, you.
When you loved me I was indifferent, though. Like
a river. Indifferent to its banks. Caressing
them secretly. Declaring nothing. A tacit
intercourse. Occasional sparks. Then banks
collapse. All is a lake now. No boundaries. No thrills.
A triumph of indifference. A muteness of love.
Where’s my bank, says the river, says the lake.
You’ve surrounded me from all sides. I can’t recognize
your body any more. What went wrong? Bodies
are born by night, and die by day. Night people
don’t recognize day people. Thin, icy waters
flow along borderlines. At daybreak, women
bend over them and weep. The warmth of their tears
will make waters passable. Once in a while a beam
of light twinkles in the eye of a woman. She extends
her hand and touches her lover’s thigh. He begins
to shiver. Her hand slides inside his body,
grabs his heart and plucks it out. The cold border
runs again. The lover shrivels and calls for help.
In vain. No one will ever come to see him there,
on the other side. Except for cold bodies
of other mutilated lovers, left to a growing
indifference. The training of loneliness.
Inhaling the remnants of themselves,
the remnants of their love.
A way out. Being an imitation
of love. Impersonate someone’s inner life.
Here they come. A solidarity in mutual defeat.
Silent caressing and futile
tapping on the shoulder.
An immaculate gaze full of longing.
Hearts unable to beat.
