WITHOUT A PAST
The grapevine slashed across your face,
when you, defenseless, fled from yourself.
Green pain blinded your squinted eyes.
The thunder of your running legs
was crushed to the ground. Behind your back
the night like backsword cut off your past –
because the language of the sword
is stronger than the language of the word.
Today the paradigm of collective guilt reigns
and you’re an outcast at a family meal.
Here is a bloody party of herd rage –
here madness dominates the stage.
So run from the savages breaking the truth
on their way … Run. Run away. But where to run?