Immortal

He who swallows

The regret of two centuries

And grinds his teeth

In anxious expectation of

Eternity’s end, last man,

Binds not the blood and bone

Of history and future to

Make Now prescient and plain,

No, for his Now is Eternity

The Ever-Still-Corpse-Of-Time

Which he carries on his back

As a snail, waddling about the

Empty and desecrated womb

Of Mother Earth.

There is no return.

There is no tomorrow.

The Sun - it has no shadows,

The Sun - it has no shadows;

The Sun - it has no shadows.