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  • NOBLE POETRY  

  • ICARUSIAN APPLICATION


      
      

    From the foaming mouth of the rumbling, bustling circulation, the evening waterfall light shoots out. Diamond-grinding butterfly-stars team in their rich gravitational ellipse orbits on the ice-cold shell-skin of cosmos. Like a square inch of smoky net-cloth, everything is enveloped in an otherworldly, dark smog-mask. The moonlight tumbles drunkenly between the filthy, vomit-smelling cobblestones; its tiny, fanciful sparks break on each other. 

    The tabby, coquettish moon has been colonised again by scavenging fellows. In the hormonal molecules of our bodies our secret Time-pump pumps up and down. To sounds that quiver from siren's lips, the everyday "fear" clusters in the well of the soul - This can no longer be a peaceful, harmonious metropolis, where once fields of flowers unfurled their petals on the lawns of peaceful playgrounds, and idyllic children's tinkling, idyllic children's tinkles filled the restless souls of men and women. 

    From our loveliest bridge-wonders, every minute, some one throws himself into the abyss. - In the otherworldly depths of mouldy, hoarse gazes, a gentle lonely service is wrought. The apocalyptic despair of leaving everything behind becomes more and more evident; total obsessions replace interests that are now beyond class. Loyalty, too, which is easy to buy, is slowly becoming a single traitorous bundle that can be bribed. 

    The power of the have and the will is degenerating into scraped ovaries. In smoking heads of dynamite, ever more stupid ideas and ideas are born: let us donate more regularly for the worthy benefit of the public, but in such a way that something may trickle down to us. Acceptable, human-centred compromises should be planted in the cup of hands again, so that the heart can create a new moral law. Constantly spouting, crumbling hatreds should be thrown to the dustbin. When can the dimensional boundaries of peace be born in the place of poisoned words?! 

     

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