Purposeless is what I am
All too suddenly the sun appears behind my back
Carrying evil forebodings of some kind of danger
I can see the other half of myself
Shuttling through the space above the evening and the time,
Sucking in the cool shade of the buckwheat;
I can see that my hands are not with me
But are holding up ossified flowers
In the dark depths of the earth
Allowing my tribesmen in ritual
To summon up the spirits of our forefathers
I can see a wall aging in the sunshine
All the aphorisms buried in wine;
I can see a singer, with his tongue flickering with fire,
Searching for surrealistic soils
As the rhythms of music creep and cover the sheepskins
I am not where I am, because I have another self
Who is heading in the opposite direction
