The Unbearable

Oh They!

What unspeakable flawless wonder,
it that shatters the heart,
the one who dies and suddently starts,
you wonder,
But will never laugh

When a concrete flowers
and a flower perishes
When a boggart screams
and a scream is no more use

For me,
for you,
for them,
for your unborn prole, for the priest
and,
for the drunk
for this quarter and half hour couple
whom taunt my street
with their lazyness and void,
for those who can ultimately speak
and speak only
for the father,
for the mother,
for you and,
again
For me.

The scream was warm
but, nevertheless
still,
cold,
orgastic,
and
those who can't hear it
those who contemplate the pork
with empytness,
ravage emptyness,
those who deathly scream
their pleasure on the floor

Know,
(but don't)
that it
is
here,
that tauntness,
unspeakable,
unexistent,
flamable
measure of being...

(like a stubborn roman candle
disturbing with light
its dark,
self,
righteous,
existence)

...