The World Is Too Full to Talk About

defend always, he no longer belonged in america, all his friends were
dead.
(6)
I am a vessel of incommunicable language, of childhood memories, of
knowing I am going to die, of wondering if people know I love them, of
being embarrassed to tell them I love them, to stumble on my words. I am
afraid to be loved, I protect my isolation which is pierced by a song, my
favourite singer whispered poetry from the core of his humanity and he
breaks my isolation and I am for a moment inside the river of life and it is
cold and frightening.
I remember from months ago, years ago, watching films alone in my parents
living room, retreating back into a fetus, into a thought on my father’s mind,
I am as an absurd happening, an absurd suffering which bursts out of
darkness then defuses back to it. any world that is formed by a big explosion
is bound to be cruel and senseless.
44 of 44