Nothing is Missing
Arranged beauty, a vanishing self. Silent guns in the corner reveal an…
Read more →Where monk-grey pillars and collapsing stone flesh echo the terracotta soldiers' search for lost beauty
A pillar, monk-grey, still standing,
while the slumbering flesh of stone collapses
into the slow erasure of desire.
Hannah whispers—
verses submerged beneath Heidegger’s aging skin,
where existence rusts and rots
like warring nations laundering their sins.
They smoke their secrets through charcoaled memory—
eyes dripping with extinction memories.
Night thickens inside their freckled bodies,
underground terracotta soldiers searching their pockets
for dead bougainvillea.
Is this the unconscious history of violence,
or the repressed rage of toy tyrants?
Everything burns here, even the dust of moon.