has swallowed itself
by its burden
as rage and tears
fell into nothing
where we come from
as all blood has flown,
mine and the blood
of all suffering
as life is not personal
and cannot be measured
against death
and as all joy
turns into rotten apples,
the way of recycling
so all sadness
will be filled with
the laughter of light
and if an angel
should see this nonsense
he would turn in the air
to keep his eyes
away from misery
and confusion
there is no place
for angels:
this is our land.
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