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Kafkaesque
There’s nothing Kafkaesque in this poem
Severe the sensory threads
Lingering at the mirror
The tongue interceded for a faltering heart
Mirror, mirror on the wall
What’s the worst act ever performed?
Speaking to no one but a reflection
Eyes sank to the sink
The chest was laced with photons
The cool air caressed the hips
Bare feet, tiptoeing and pirouetting
Hands reaching out, the effervescence of the body
The absurd and creativity are a temporary salvation from Thanatos
Memory dissolves after a while, a premonition of the immanence of death in life
Love and suffering, the apex of the sublime
Is really madness a sort of paroxysm of lyricism?
When these thoughts actualise their roots in existence
I spiral down
From the heights of despair
And I rise up
From the depths of happiness
There is always a limit
A point where the body can’t go any further or come back from
Experience all those random and few experiences life can offer you to their limit
For you can’t put life on the plane of eternity
Once they are consumed by the limits of empiricism
Once they expire, you’d rather exhale one last breath than
Be just another cog in the mechanism of capitalism
A walking shadow in the oppressive heat of money and success
I’d rather go mad with no fear of moments of possible lucidity
A luminous tension to the dark with lights in it
Oh frequencies from above, I do not need your name
Turn me into the organic human
Vital disequilibrium, beyond science and art
