Pain
A spring of water where I must burn by myself until all flames are well
extinguished, as if I were approaching death, a body — nearly without
mouth or eyes or heart, and so on — flung into its own turbulence,
with no beatitude whatsoever. Eros again (who else?), is beside me and
far from me — irresistible pest. What can I do to love his ever-present
wounds? My house laps up the flames, and the wrong creatures keep
appearing throughout the musical score.
Read More