|Art installation in New Delhi by Clemens Behr|
there's no guard tower on the olive orange ridge of morning coming.
the trolls of consequence and limit are slow to wake-
snarling boredoms, slimes and gases-
with the cumbersome bulge of providing for the tradition of reality heavy on their backs.
the toenails of fertile scary blackness in my eyes aren't music
but neither is the waiting rinse.
the living are baptized live by sunwash daily
and the far wide wisdom of sand runs through our impatiences
as if through slender fingers.
we are all the filth that makes us so uncomfortable
and all of the waste that keeps us poor.
the toil of remaking is never done by the dreamers
but the dreams of tomorrow's saviors
will be forged into truth by hard-workers...
the only ones who have the capacity to believe with their bodies.