Software dumps itself
on our skulls, in beautiful hexadecimals
I mean: the world is garbage
there is nothing better than aging
which is helpful to imagine
since childhood repaints itself in mp3s
it taunts
as we take a vow of silence
and let the prosecutors finish their tea
The dust is part of the city
And of love
It is scattered over a drawing
Describing an eventual death
I am succumbing to the density of stairs
Until I am tired enough
To accept that the heat
And the sleeping around
To matter
Or to mean
As if the DADAists taught us nothing
As if they just abandoned their bicycles and collages
And we said nothing in return
We really said nothing in return
My son taught me to eat cheese pizza
I do and think that
Airports are erotic entities
And words will stay words
Despite poetry
And while at it
Stories too don’t end
They only get interrupted by death
Then continue…
All artwork is courtesy of Reda Khalil.
