Inverted Commas: The Gruesome Obituary
The master-signifier digs down with his crooked two-fingered hands,
Crushing in his evil embrace the Is and Wes and Uses,
Like frightened children we freeze – before escaping
Into the prison of the organless body.
The lines of flight cry out for fellow travelers. Assemble!
Gasping in the foaming ocean of desire we multiply, rebel.
WANTED: Nomads itching to stay, craving soil and muddy rivers,
Nimble-footed and heavy-handed, rambling.
Tucked between inverted commas concepts wither,
Without struggle, without song, locked in archeology.
Personal pronouns of the world, unite. Stream the code.