now night arrives with her purple legion
it’s pagan poetry
why do we crucify ourselves?
i am not a whore. i’ve been whore plenty, but i am not a whore
my creator appeared to me in the form of a black lion
it could be like this, just like this, always
how many lands behind me? how many seas?
what others say about me is none of my business
like hooks, like claws
before the sea abandons us
the inner light
you will see me fly across the city of fury
i want you to finish it
they told me to take a streetcar named desire…