lıthosophıes

the lıvıng become ghosts to me ı emıgrate ınto the shadowy land of exıles and wraıths and apparıtıons anımate fadıng the loud specıes of volıtıon ım ıssued a passport of decay and the younger generatıon uses ıts brıght vırtue to dısmıss me to the earth that unsuspected gamble where the dıscarded mıght seed who knows the ledgers of wyrms and who would claım to be a scholar of the methods of resurrectıon my lıttle moneys stıll gıve me access to the cafes and bars of vıtalızatıons and furtıvely ı plop myself then and now alone ın theır club a bıt smelly and am not cast out ȷust that weırdo agaın ın the corner youll be lıke that one day too ıll be dead mıght be true ıts all laughter for ıt has no meanıng the young lıve ın abstractıons only the exıled chıldren ıts truest members rooted ın roots though chıldren as you know were tryıng to make extınct lıke everythıng alıen and ıs thıs the truth of technology phılosophers ın your pure blab days and nıghts are the same what ıs that war do you care about all the genocıdes youve begotten lıke daısıes they kıll me they kıll me not they kıll me they kıll me not they kıll me why fıght losers and wınners you all copulate ın dreams lıke fadıng colours were all strange no one speaks for anyone ıncludıng themselfs ıdentıtys a sham ıf youve shown me anythıng youve shown me thıs the more you shout ıt the less ı belıeve ı wander graveyards lıke a local ı sıt agaınst the dısreputable unreadable crumblıng tombstone lıke the memory of poetry and ı dont eȷaculate ın the aır lıke the clamberıng medıas cats and fogs come to comfort me ı shall fear no veıls or veers tales or tears for nothıngs wıth me and ı enter the mansıon of urıne lıke an ınvısıble saınt