Flow into me

Like the warm trickle of blood into a knife-cut smile
Like the blue slush of poison into a pink-tinged mouth
Like the fish swirl of semen into an eager woman-cave

These are not the days of wine and roses
The vineyards and the gardens are now army camps
And the bottles have been emptied to make molotov cocktails
All over the world, sunburnt (wo)men have stood up
And are being digitised into geostationary satellites for our grandchildren

These are not the nights of moonlight sonatas
The violins and pianos have been turned into firewood
The sheet music into toilet paper
You can ignore the chaos, but the chaos will not ignore you

Once all this has died down
When man will again discover fire on his skin
In the hope of that technolithic future
Flow into me
Like the snake river of the cryptoIndians
On its way to meet the immortal salamander











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