purée

When I was 12 or 13 years old, I stood under the sun, feeling the mud bake and break on my body. I stood there with my feet buried in the mud of a purling brook. Dark brown, fluid mud I had carefully pasted onto my naked body up until my shoulders.

Hands harpooned to the dusty ground,
he is a slave to his country´s wound.

Young, iranian, and laden with outdated myths,
he recoils from clerical juices.

I shun the day. Every truth-seeker is a darkist and should have a fondness for the dark. Counsels who are daytime lovers cannot be true truth-seekers because they like the apparent, and since they themselves are living in the dark they are confined to reality.

sweetheart
sweet heart
heartless
less hurt.

I wish i could fly as high as far,
to be next to you like a star.

Hustling from situation to situation, you are
vainly promoting your short-breathed venation;

Chest in, chest out in a hurry, in your quest, you are
Subject to mild violence depriving you from you the best;

cool fishing son
lemon pepper son
sunburn and reckless one
come and save your last dish

raw meat such blood-sweet
mushy guts eat´m and sour ribs crack´m
your juicy soul pour out some
before they force and render thee
a dead and solemn one