The earth spits blood,
hidden blood,
where we unconsciously pass
and the smell is invisible.
Invincible?
-No.
Invisible, because
that's justice
hides.
Invincible because the beats
of death do not cease,
and the impotent drive
is reflected in tears.
The earth spits blood,
blood on the hands,
of those parents who
caress the wind
in withered hopes,
of invisible sighs,
of invincible thinking.
Photographers: Caroline Lytskjold
My name.
The name of the textual sound of silence. |
Sound Artist, Writer in experiment, Artist, Audiophile “NoMusician”.”