The center axis
Even though i left the latest totalitarian regime behind at age four
I still believe
Integrity is punishable by death
By a burning sensation on my skin
That seems to be peeling it off
Leaving behind naked bones
Which are not quite sure how to move
In the vacuum of the world.
Integrity was punishable by death
Probably so many times
That i bear the collective memory.
Especially perhaps for people who see the burning bush and can’t unsee the fire lest their souls sicken.
Integrity in small things.
It has become
To use the mask
To gloss over that which is
By being forced to be in actual contact with reality. .
On a skin which is not used to this contact, painfully electrified by it, this is very rough.
Reality comes at the cost of reality.
Self-knowledge comes at the cost of respecting limits.
Stability comes at the cost of respecting that which is possible for the material self
And the soul while preserving its purity
And flushing away the foam.
Most of it was foam.
The actual seed is precious and minuscule, shy, fragile, inexperienced, so simple it is almost a shame.