The Psychodynamics of Solitude

 Never alone. Even when suddenly you believe that the stars no longer bear any fruit.  Never alone. Even when silently you feel the tears no longer nourish any flower.  Never alone. Even when interminably you hold sand and foam through the darkness... your breast blowing, breaking, biting, sweetly as the child of nonsense. You touch random storm and contradiction of freedom and stories of madness on the beach one night. You touch the omnivorous strength around my flesh. This is my most tender flesh.

You whisper within this Darkness of Fruits growing until the openness of moons. The throat of slaves happens here on the beach. You sing the madness within stories of madness, awakening young, new-born slaves finally capable of marching towards the center, the capital, something like Babylon, Rome or New York. The ferocity of freedom inhabits the green eyes of slaves, mixed blood of slaves, roaming groaning throwing forces, many forces, many powerful forces...

Never alone, Spartacus. The multitude pursues and promises and spreads out waves, within me, before me, the most ignorant and ferocious Princess... flashes of freedom.

Not a word, but the breath of a kiss responding here, open field, open air. Spartacus touches the lips of the Princess, the secret loves Darkness. The secret astonishes my heroes, my palpable place of birth, my self nothingness 

murmuring   praying   

enduring the God of Infinite Water-springs

I throw myself upon your solitude,  

my hope next to nothing in the river, forest, sky.

The mass of young naked bodies promises hope, 

emergency of hope, 

shining   chanting   shielding 

and our bare hands 

finally capable of making ourselves afresh.