Holy Me
Unrest in me
made me so and not that,
in whatever doings and whoever is me:
something crams upwards
weaves web over web
around the thoughts.
Is it so, want it else:
it’s so damn cold
when all quivers.
Hammer and forge
my dearest words
for whom I don’t possess.
Want to caress
everyone’s head
in a sacrament,
be so for ever,
till night ebbs from me
in a godforsaken box.
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