The experiment

I have noticed as of late, there has been a resurgence of conversations encompassing death. Perhaps this is a sign of the times we now find ourselves surrounded by? Perhaps it is the seasonal outcome of Winter's closing? Perhaps it is that when one dances frivolously in the presence of the Dark Lord that one simply is more receptive to its unspoken voice, hearing echoes in the words of others and seeing vague reflections within their faces?

The ability...
To give and to accept with the sincerity...
Is already a Favor...
Moreover, it does not require any gratitude...

In the childhood, I was happy without any reason…
Even one sunny sprinkle made me tremble!
Now my happiness has so many conditions …
From weather and health - up to the finance and policy!
Moreover, something always remains not executed...
In addition, this "something" blocks the road...
To such a nice feeling as happiness...

You did not choose the date of your birth...
You did not choose the country in which to be born...
You did not choose the color of your skin...
Parents and heredity...
Now you precisely choose everything!
Congratulations!
However, it is already late!
Moreover, it is too ridiculous...

I have come into the church …
I have heard your prays … «Yes there will be my will! »...
So you pray and you beg … very much wish to impose your will to God …
That is what for are all these temples and sacrifices!
God’s will does not need any approve …
When we ask for something this means that God is not competent...
Moreover, we know better about our needs!
Nevertheless, God does not require our help!
Relax and calm down... Accept That What It Is!
It is Its Will and Its Favor!

We do not appreciate things that come easy to us…
Moreover, we do not feel sorry for the snow in spring…
And it is already to late when we start realizing…
That there is no time left to live…
That the life is gone…
We start to think of the time…
When there is a little of it left…
We are waiting for the happiness…
When it is gone…
I want you to be full of everything!
Today!
Tomorrow!
In a hundred years!

dirty Windows, clouded view.
Vista delayed delighted dawdled
achieve plateau, snow
drifted dreamed higher,
climbed flat feet(ed).
Ache evening, ire and
foot foetid bill.
Built alighted and soar
(roar lioness estactic,
pneumatic pumped
bled hard wrenching,
plumbed depth defying
dependence densely
reamed. Linked clump
ill tempted plate,
let deals eddy--
I stayed dancing.
‘til tempered fate
for platelets edema
demanded pass word.

god forbid
oops too late

apostate postrated
god
up for bid, biddy
ebay bitty baby

across lake
go darfur iBid
iBis in bed,
if this pro-state
can serve
opposite rate
_

a post, please rate:

god forbid
a prostrate apostate postdate
prostate diagnosis
die /gnosis
can serve fruit?
flesh cancer re:
place god for ebay,
(ibid.)

From us
will a clan be born.
With you, a tribe of gypsies
fluid as the water
between cracks in concrete.
which feed the destraughting roots.
which tear up sidewalk,
and roar open avenue.

How descendant will become
a people
empire builders
out of ruined earth
and how they will wage—
wage people and wage war and rage,
like our ancestors
who we are to become.

How cities grow to engulf
will they multiply, how our
sons and daughters are factors
to trace We, root of tree and -triarchy.

For us
a story passed for generate
a wave of lifelines crash
against the steely shore
(steely? do I really dare?
For tresses fall cross your shoulder
from your curls let down
for these,

For empires fall
as surely as the crowds alight
from flight. they will spread,
to the corners of the planet
and we
from whence
progenit evry continent.

We will write
our love song in the generations
that, once forgot, will
still move the rhythm.
play high and low to a chorus
of a thousand unhearing ears,
which will still curve
just like yours.

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       It's dead. There's nothing else here, just the one. Below and above is white. You can see through it, though. The floor. The bottom's all exposed. Blackened, the fire might have done it. Water's gone away. But you could still stand on it, on the line of nothing, staring below forever at the blank. Maybe you can't go there, though. You might not be supposed to see it. Maybe it's God's, or someone else's. A white graveyard, just one dead thing, waiting for one more. And then it's gone forever.
       It's so close now that I could touch it. Necrotic brown flesh, falling apart, dying more and more even after death died. It let more out, long ago, when the body was fresh. Juices and pus. It dripped them from the sky; it would tower over everything if there was anything. Dripping on the false floors below it, the invisible holes and stair ducts. And anyone below. Maybe there is something alive here, but it can't be seen. Will they be alive when they come? or crawl on dissipating flesh of former life? will they touch it like I could touch it now and feel it fall on them and bury them die with it be buried in clear and drift drift forever
       you could climb the branches like me climb up and find the noose waiting wanting to be filled and display proudly its kill will I let it? it won't matter it's got me anyway. falling apart anyway. rot. i lend my body and go away now.
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