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a filmpoem
imagined by bobie
One winter evening scorching,
I saw the light
and I entered.
Entered into myself,
Behind the curtain closed of my heavy eyelids,
Padlocked by my fears and fears.
The winding hose leading to my synapses
were only shadows and colors.
Tactile sensation,
more a state of consciousness.
In the deepest of me, I had to loose myself,
push through indescribable compelling strength
that I could not escape,
my dark moods are attracted towards the bottom
Like iron filings by a powerful magnet.
For this trip in introspection,
I do not feel alone.
It floated around me,
the infinite vanishing cohort of my deads.
Those loved ones,
those strangers,
those back pages, that during in my life
I had crossed.
Zero animosity, no empathy in their escort,
But guessed the intense curiosity that animated.
The deads do not have eyes.
They set up with their hollow orbits.
But you know nothing because they are only spectrum, ether or ectoplasm,
Nearest to us of a gas that from the human they were on our side.
At the end of my wandering in the corridors of my subconscious,
a great peace came over me as an electric heat...
I was suddenly in a cottony plain.
A hilly area where the deceased resided crowd.
This agora, the cemetery,
so that's where their minds rested in peace.
Perhaps there is no beyond the grave except in our memories
And there is nothing after death that keeps them alive somewhere else than our memories?
Space capsule necropolis flesh
is what we are.
There is no better All Saints' Day
that his worship in his own breast.
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