For what cannot be bought, there is feeling
at times the feeling of leaving the body
to touch the vulnerable fragment of iridescence
At times the feeling of incompetent
a longing for the person
who will leave the body and meet the soul
in a dance of joy in suffering.
The soul rips apart and the body screams
the face reacts by red patches of uglyness
as the vesicles release fluid in the form
of floating perspiration.
I touched the urine on her skin
but only the coins felt her longing.
I cannot recall the face but I remember
the need , a need for the coin,
the gesture of the cross.
The priest, he said
that we are pilgrims, bodies made of dust,
the journey is centered towards…
the beans, the sustenance of flatulence.
the error grave, as I gazed at the artform and forgot to see
the hidden people that color the environment
with the reality of the result of self gain and free market,
I gave a coin, the priest a nice word, but the grass gave nothing,
it could not give beans,
the beans belonged to a market of some form,
which turned every touch into a debt,
the grave , a cost,
the birth, a cost,
the diploma, a cost,
the lips releasing a heavy smell
the rotting of the wood,
the explosion of the candle
which refuses to light without whim.
the lord will only listen by the donation,
a donation to light the candle,
a small remnant, a reminder of the debt
that christ left.
debt is but submission towards a power,
she released rain, sitting on the side of the street
drinking Coca Cola
a woman of no means, with the coin,
the power of the cross
which portrays the debt of one person towards another,
a debt which immediately fades, once the coin is released,
the kiss of life forgotten, the dance a facade,
no home for he who only has a coin.