And "Underneath (13)"-- needed explanation because
of the mystic nature of the theory
and our reliance on collective belief.
I could not visualize the end.
The tools that paved the way broke.
The body, the foundation, the exact copy of the real.
Our surfaces were covered.
Our surfaces are all covered.
Actual hands appear, but then there is writing.
In the cave, we were deeply impressed,
as in addicted to results.
Oh.
And dedication training.
The idea of loss of life.
In our work, we call this emotion.
How a poem enters into the world.
There is nothing wrong with the instrument
as here I would raise my voice.
But the human being and the world cannot be equated.
Aside from the question of whether or not we are alone,
and other approaches to nothingness.
The term subject.
The term only.
Also, opinion and annihilation.
The bodies, my nudist sensation of time.
The world, it is true has not yet been destroyed.
Intensification, void.
We are amazed.
Uselessness is the last form love takes.
So liquid till the foregone conclusion.
Here we are, the foregone conclusion.
So many messages transmitted they will never
acquire meaning.
Do you remember?
My love, my archive, touch me here.
Give birth to a single idea.
Touch where it does not lead to war.
Show me exact spot, climb the stairs, lie on the bed,
have faith.
Nerves wearing only moonlight, lie down.
Lie still, patrol your cage.
Be a phenomenon.
At the bottom below the word intention, lick past it.
Rip years.
Find the burning matter.
Love allows it, I think.
Push past the freedom.
Smoke.
Push past intelligence.
Smoke.
Overwhelm, sprawl favorite city.
Gods tiny voices.
Hand over mouth.
Let light arrive.
Let the past strike us and go.
Drift, undo.
If it please the dawn, lean down, say, hurt.
Undo.
In your mouth be pleased.
Where does it say?
This is the mother tongue.
There is in my mouth a ladder.
Climb down.
Presence of world, impassable gap.
Pass.
I am beside myself.
You are inside me as history.
We exist.
Meet me.
Thank you.