Compelling Circle

as when your

drooping soul already echoes with the blazing prohibition,

your heart is jugging in the mortal fear of the yet hovering eternity, knowing there’s no remission,

your itchy eyes still look into the snake-eyes,

your hand still to the toxic fruit flies,

as when…

(it’s as if

the fly would wilfully fly into the spiderweb,

it’s as if

the turkey would chop down it’s own stupid head,

the orgy of a foolish set…)

as when you

hear behind you the scorching scream,

then closer to your head the bluster of the fire-stream,

till you look inside you, and find hell there,

still an eye looks back, as idol-stare,

still your foot recoils as a salt-stair,

as when…

(it’s as if

the worm would gladly jump into the beak of the woodpecker,

it’s as if

it would voluntarily jump out from the nest, that fluffy flapper,

the coquetry of a senseless matter…)

as when at departure

in your tumbledown car you don’t fasten your seatbelt,

then you don’t slow down a bit in the hairpin bend,

you’d like to live, but an intrinsic revolt cries crazily

that despite all of this you should play a bit merrily

in the compelling circle of the ancient adversity,

as when…

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