Race : In - Battles

To slit the grinning wounds

From childhood’s seven moons

The palette stained with the ejaculated passions

(of forbidden, hedonistic colors…)

Strike from omnipotence;

all-seer, all-deemer

And haunt my severed country with your

Dripping, secret games

You pick the unripe lilies

Deflored and peeled the bleeding petals

Made known to me

The grainy stains, the crimson lotus

Of the Black-Ash Inheritance

The semen feed of gods and masters

The worms still in me

Still a part of me

Racing out from leaking rooms

Swoop from broken lungs

To block the transmission

To put an end to the nomad years

Father

You are the

Dead god in me

Father

You are the

Dead god in me