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Thrown to the Sun
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All Truth Is Crooked
We
The ones who think in eternity
Are snails
Creeping on razors of bone
We slice ourselves upon every step
Slowly into a fraction of our being
Everything straight, lies
And therein lies
The whole of man's plight
Crawling insects
Gnawing on the insides of a branch
Hollow
Just to find the meaning
In between the panels
That enclose the earth
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Coating the sun
With the slime of vanity
By which our eyelids
Are sewn together
With threads of iron
We
The ones who think in eternity
We walk a straight line
Ours is a silence without excuse
Without palliation
Where we walk, there are thorns
Where we look, there are walls
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