I write queer letters in sand
trying to make my mark in this land
my alphabet comes into existence
from an external floating presence
who is something other from mine
yet it is me from a different time
the feeling changes minute by minute
making my very soul rather dilute
so I make this conversation with it
talking to myself in the soul pit
this is the dreaded Anti-Christ
who opposes the great Christ
which can not be nothing but me
from which I sometimes wanna flee
they both want what’s in my best interest
and neither will never ever let me rest
the me-me wants to be born again
the anti-me wants the world to gain
and the talk indubitably goes nowhere
I surrender and let him take me there
where the stones and dead trees are gilded
and drunkenness and happenstance are mixed
and to this day I continue writing these letters
my other-selfness removing all my tethers
telling me that he is the chosen one
and that only by him the day is won
he is the lack of concepts and meanings
yet he is everything a man ever needs
everything my conscious self ever does
the unconscious me always does finish
who am I talking to?