Virtue
For those who’ll follow, I took two bales
of shredded paper and covered their footprints;
the divided element of matter mattered too:
a husk, a kernel, a lump of dirt, dry and soft like
our guilt that was too strong when the doorbell rang,
my dead cousin got up and went to let Him in,
the elated one, our wildest dream, the deathless
dreamer, our flesh avenger, the angel with a sword
in His right hand and with our future misery in His left
when He laughed uncontrollably: the Eraser of our fear,
of our fear littleness, and humanness, our most profound
dignity our Übermensch.
I like those who love their virtue, which is their
wish for self-destruction and the arrow of longing.
Manolis Aligizakis 