By the surface of this rotten wood
I pursuit my soul.
Beneath the tender blanket of this candlelight
remains a hidden trinity that seeks ancient, holy voids.
All is full of lyrics
and atoms
and gods.
By smashing every statue,
I have seen their lungs.
Jumping off the bridge
and hanging on the tree:
all the great discoveries you can never be.
Half-monkey, half-sky,
these pair of legs just will go on, to stand, running, until the limits of cognizance.
How long should I take as a navy these words?
On what spaces and lands should they work after all?
Hesitation and desire: two extremes of one road.
Equal plates of a balance:
do we have to play dumb?
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