Wednesday, March 11, 2009

For the Life of a Worthless
'There is snow. With Tau and seeds
it glows in the sand. Seven eyes
Silk suck, smoke, ink, foam.
It is a tired entlaubt goose.'




We love Death

'Red Threads body,
Turn bread into sorrow,
Not in question, ax is
Life. We, your death,
you weave your Lot
in soil. Wild messengers
we love the death.'
[Berlin 1953-54]

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