i dip my fingers deep into boiling soup just to feel little pain of existence seal of the being
i cut my skin and saw little drops falling into the water swarmed with the pieces of spiritless fetus i saw that brew reddened
hot deep swirl caught my infantile eye drew me in i forgot all that i was
i looked at the cross on the top of the valley mirage of mirror in the middle of barrens were hundreds of men singing the verses
i saw the blooming tree where i was hanging dead and suspicious hooked like a carcass wrapped in a velvet red was a color
crowd have been shouting louder and louder and louder deafening clamor of internal voices now they were telling me all that- so the feast begins all that i am
glimpse of the hollow self reflected red is true color true cognation
Soup in my head
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