Thursday, June 12, 2014

The surface


They climb over walls to hunt her down and hang her
Let’s follow them a little, just for the spectacle
I haven’t been to a show in years
One of these compositions that slowly build up
In the spectator’s eyes
The glitter of years
Marks the surface of nightmares
Hanging feet up, head down
Lion teeth garland a tiny girl’s neck
Everybody wants to shoot
In the end, a wild race of perverts
The first image is sold to the highest bidder
Who never admits looking at what hangs
Inside those glaring eyes