The center axis



Even though i left the latest totalitarian regime behind at age four

I still believe

Integrity is punishable by death

By loss

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.

How pervasive

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.

What remains?

Most of it was foam.

The actual seed is precious and minuscule, shy, fragile, inexperienced, so simple it is almost a shame.


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