men and women like fingerprints, the soft whisper and the moisture of love chat. you can measure them by the use of light and space inserted in between. I myself am one night and one day tall. the space between me an my birth can be measured precisely by the use of kilometers. to cry over the schizophrenic condition of our existence is like acknowledging the immediacy of hands and the lack of grasping claws that could exorcise pictures. I myself hold two selves. but both are invisible. I am the fingerprint. the presence of absence, the digital presence of experiences untold, and of hands not yet held. the noblest feeling of suffering slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. in their flight the slings and arrows prepare for the pain. the one second of flight is repayed by immeasurable pain.
take arms against me though I’m not the sea of troubles you are looking for.
the sleep is the heart-ache. my flesh is heir to you. I know I shouldn’t be looking at you. your body is the bare bodkin I’m afraid to use. after that there won’t be a point to return. what would be the point of returning.
be all my sins forgot. my flesh transparent, my bones of air, my love of nothing else but you. when I leave you alone, make me the invisible man. I know, you need your life. I promise, I shall forget about mine.