Self = 0

Today I have been waiting for my Self.
(All in vain as all my perspiring. Lately.)

After some despair
I decided to examine my chest
it was marked with a sign: 0

I concluded
my Self should have departed.

All departure must be an arrival somewhere.
I doubt.

Is My departure a longing for an arrival
and an encounter Elsewhere?
I doubt. Extensively.
Within, without.

(Young man,
I had told you that you are suffering
from an acute aerial roots syndrome
and that the nodous inner formations,
your new system of flesh beliefs and desires,
must derive from extreme temperature variations.)

Tell me your story again.
Begin with the sign 0.
Draw it on your palm.
Again. Between your eyes.

Imagine your love as rain and snow on your body.
Imagine your anxiety as a mobile landscape.
Open your mouth. Embark on naked voices.

Only speechless vowels through your skin.

Begin breathing and drinking the Origin.